The Doll and the Dummy
by Zabbie Q
Summary: A combined AU of "Bride of the Living Dummy" and "Slappy's Nightmare": After having too many birthday parties end in mysterious disasters, Jillian Zinman has given up her dream of being an entertainer - and Slappy sees an opportunity to beat the curse Jimmy O'James has cast on him.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

One of my biggest inspirations for fanfiction comes from YarningChick, the BNF of the fandom for _The Cat Returns_. She's famous for all her AU's and fan sequels that are retellings of fairy tales and films - but without resorting to "cookie-cutter plots." She takes the time to change plot points to fit character traits and backgrounds, and she'll reimagine scenes from the canon TCR film to fit the story (for example, many fics have the "Katzen Blut" waltz between Baron and Haru, but the circumstances that lead up to that moment will be different). This fanfic was inspired, in part, by one of her fanfics - which I'll reveal at the end since that would spoil a puzzle piece or two. ;)

Disclaimer - Goosebumps and its characters (including Jillian Zinman, Jimmy O'James, and, of course, Slappy) © R.L. Stine and Scholastics.

* * *

"Why can't we wait until _after_ our birthday to hang up Christmas decorations?" Katie grumbled, bouncing on the heels of her sneakers so that her black ponytail bounced.

Jillian Zinman stretched the rubber end of the pink balloon she had just finished inflating and started to make a knot. "It's your own fault for being born a week late," she replied calmly. "You and Amanda could have been born on the Twelfth, you know." Dad often joked that the only reason the girls were born at all was that Katie had been hungry for Aunt Sophie's Christmas gingerbread cookies and had dragged Amanda right along with her.

Katie made a face and flopped onto the rec-room couch, causing the Christmas throw pillows to jiggle, and even laying down, she had to twitch her legs and fidget with the straps of her overalls. Katie rarely stayed still, except when she was glued to the television. "We don't have to hang up the decorations in November. We won't even go see Santa until next Tuesday," she declared before she made a sound that would have been immature even for a four-year-old, and today was Katie's seventh birthday.

However, Jillian could understand her little sister's plight with the seasonal competition. Since the twins were born on the 19th, many of their gifts mailed in from out-of-state relatives doubled as "birthday- ** _and_** -Christmas" presents, which sucked no matter what age you were. At least this year their birthday fell on a Saturday, so the twins and their party guests had already started their Christmas vacation.

Humming under her breath, Jillian finished the next balloon and bopped it at her pouting sister. "Catch!"

Katie barely smacked it away in time, but a grin appeared on her thin face, her birthday troubles momentarily forgotten.

Satisfied, Jillian swept her hand across the festive basement rec room, which had balloons and streamers intermingled with green garlands and paper angels. "Now, are you gonna mope, or are you gonna help me get things ready for your party?"

Katie folded her arms. " _I'm_ the birthday girl," she said, sticking out her tongue.

Jillian rubbed her chin. "Hmm, that reminds me. I still owe you a birthday pinch." She took a deliberate step toward her, holding up two fingers teasingly.

That made Katie spring to her feet, ducking beside the couch arm. "Don't even _think_ about it!" she squeaked, narrowing her blue eyes.

 _Gotcha_. Jillian chuckled to herself and pulled out another balloon. She did not mind the work. Mom was paying her, and this was a good business for someone who had just started middle school. Jillian was tall and thin and a good climber, making her a go-to choice when it came to hanging party banners and streamers, and her best friend and business associate, Harrison Cohen, was a champ at lifting heavy stuff. Jillian was confident they could get themselves a good clientele - someday. It just got annoying when Katie got underfoot and did not lift a finger to help. Still, despite the large age gap between them, it was nice to hang out with her little sister without her acting (completely) bratty or ignoring her in favor of some dumb toy - a _very_ dumb toy.

"You're going to have a good birthday," Jillian assured her sister, taking a moment from her task to face the skinny little girl. "Everybody's RSVP-ed, and they're bringing presents. And the ventriloquist will be here soon," she reminded her. The twins had begged for weeks to get Jimmy O'James, the performer from the Little Theater, and his dummy, Slappy, to come to their party, and their parents finally caved in a few days ago. Fortunately, Jimmy did private shows. "You're lucky. You could've gotten my clown act for the entertainment," she added lightly - even as she inwardly winced.

"And Aunt Sophie is upstairs helping Mom bake both cakes," Katie agreed, shuffling her way through the pile of balloons Jillian had left on the ground, sending them bouncing against the furniture. "I like that we get two cakes this year. Amanda always wants yellow cake, and I really like chocolate cake."

"Like you aren't wired up enough already," Jillian laughed, not unkindly. Katie was the twin that wore overalls and swung through trees in the summer. Amanda was the twin that sat under those trees and had tea parties with her collection of teddy bears.

"Aunt Sophie is cool - for an old lady," Katie continued as if she had not heard her. "She gives Mary-Ellen her own cupcake when we play at her house - Mary-Ellen says she's a good cook. I hope she lives next door forever."

Aunt Sophie was weird that way, Jillian thought as she went back to her balloons. Her great aunt was a short, elderly woman with snow-white hair and a thin nose that looked like Jillian's even though she wasn't biologically related to them. Aunt Sophie was always doing old-lady activities like bingo and knitting, but her house was filled with porcelain dolls and miniature furniture which she had been collecting since she was eight years old. Jillian had not been fond of dolls even when she was a little girl, but Katie and Amanda loved spending afternoons with their aunt, especially since they could bring Mary-Ellen with them. Mary-Ellen was their doll - and the bane of Jillian's existence - but Aunt Sophie was as polite to her as the twins were. What a nut.

Katie kicked another balloon. "Mary-Ellen is really looking forward to the party," she said with sincerity. "Do you think Slappy will be friends with her?"

"Are we talking about the same dummy?" Jillian said dryly.

Before Katie could reply, there came the creak of the basement door opening, and heavy, familiar steps descended. In a few moments the bulk that was Harrison Cohen appeared.

Harrison was two months younger than Jillian, but he was huge for his age: tall, wide, and very muscular with a big, serious face that hid his easygoing nature. "Special delivery," he grinned as soon as he saw her, and he held up his cargo which Jillian recognized as the box that Mom kept the recycled birthday decorations in.

"Set it over there," Jillian replied, gesturing toward the television.

Harrison hopped off the last step with a thud and crossed the room with an easy saunter. Right behind him was Amanda, Jillian's other sister, who tailed him like a noontime shadow. She was dressed in her prettiest pink party frock, her black hair held in place by a pink hair-clip and allowed to hang around her shoulders. She carried a clear bin with Mom's curling ribbons under one arm. In her other arm she carried her huge doll, Mary-Ellen.

Jillian frowned. "Please, get her out of here. We're working."

"This is Mary-Ellen's house too," Amanda insisted. "She can go wherever she wants."

"Like the trash can," Jillian returned, rolling her eyes. She knew it was a cheapshot, but the girls had covered her toothbrush with hot sauce that morning - knowing full well that even black pepper was too spicy for her - and had said it was Mary-Ellen's idea, so Jillian did not feel too guilty for wanting to drop kick the inanimate toy into heavy traffic in the preferably near future.

Amanda set the plastic monstrosity on the couch before she turned to face Harrison. "Mary-Ellen can't wait for the party to start," she told him. "She really wants to meet Slappy." She gave the older boy what she must have thought was her loveliest smile. "That's why she's dressed so fancy. Doesn't she look pretty, Harrison?" she asked, gesturing to the frilly dress the doll wore.

 _No_ , Jillian thought.

Harrison gave the little girl an uncertain grin. "She... looks okay," he said diplomatically, and Jillian saw his dark eyes dart toward the staring plastic face - and she could see he was trying not to grimace.

Jillian could not blame him. Mary-Ellen was a complete horror of a toy. She was an enormous doll, a few inches shorter than the twins (who were already tall for their age). Her plastic head was decked with a frizzy wig of brown mop-yarn hair. Her face was a painted mask of violet eyes, blood-red circles on her cheeks, and a heart-shaped mouth that curled upward in a disturbing grin. She was a nightmare to look at, but the twins loved her. They were always talking to her, singing to her, taking her to the playground, or dressing her up in their clothes. Sometimes - actually, many times - they would ignore Jillian for that piece of junk. Even after she would do something nice, like buy that doll her own ice-cream cone when she took the twins to Dairy Queen.

Jillian pushed the thought aside. "Hey, if you guys want this party to start on time, help me finish," she ordered.

The twins did not even look at her. Amanda turned back to Harrison with her sweet smile, her blue eyes sparkling. "It was Mary-Ellen's idea to get Slappy to come to the party," she said, twisting her little hips so that her party skirt swished around her stocking legs. "Jimmy O'James never picks us when he asks for volunteers, so she thought we could get Slappy to come here for our birthday so that she can meet him. She thinks Slappy's very cool."

Harrison gave a weak grin and sidestepped away from the dark-haired girl to stand beside Jillian, practically using her as a human shield. "Yeah, I like Slappy," he replied at last. He had liked puppet shows as long as Jillian had known him, and he had even come to some of the ventriloquist's performances with the Zinman sisters. "He's really funny."

"That's up for debate," Jillian muttered under her breath, tossing another balloon so that it joined the pile on the floor.

Katie made a face. "Mary-Ellen says you're just jealous you're not as funny as Slappy. Nobody liked you when you were a clown, but everybody likes him."

"Everybody but the kids he insults on stage," Jillian drawled. "At least my jokes are better than saying Jimmy O'James looks like a plate of vomit."

"But Mary-Ellen says he does!" Amanda giggled mischievously.

Jillian rolled her eyes. Seven-year-olds. They got a kick out of gross insult humor. Since last autumn, the twins had gone to a lot of the Saturday matinee shows at the Little Theater four blocks away to see the ventriloquist get insulted by his little dummy - and they dragged Jillian along with them. Jillian had gotten into the habit of borrowing Harrison's GameBoy whenever they went, but taking the girls to the theater was still one of the few way she could force them to be nice to her - especially if they wanted to take Mary-Ellen to watch Slappy.

"Look, if you want your party to look nice," she began slowly, "either go upstairs or help me out. I'm doing this all for you, you know."

"You're doing this 'cause Mom's paying you," Katie accused.

"I can do things for my baby sisters _and_ money," Jillian returned.

"Can't argue with that," Harrison laughed.

"So, please get Mary-Ellen out of here," Jillian continued.

Katie did not reply. She just took Mary-Ellen from her twin's hands. Ever active, she spun in circles, moving like a top across the floor as she swung the huge doll around - and the heavy plastic hand connected with Jillian's face.

Jillian staggered back. "Hey - !" she cried out, rubbing her smarting cheek.

Katie sprang back. "I didn't do it! It was Mary-Ellen," she insisted. "You were mean to her!"

It was not the first time "Mary-Ellen" had hit her - that day. "Get her out of here," Jillian said through her teeth, "or I'll tell Mom you dumped your oatmeal into the trash yesterday."

Both pair of blue eyes widened, and her sisters promptly turned and hightailed it up the stairs.

Jillian exhaled. She knew it was babyish to get mad at a dumb doll, but her sisters were always using that thing to torment her, even making Mary-Ellen their scapegoat for all their mean tricks. The twins loved practical jokes - they could even be funny sometimes - but ever since Dad had brought Mary-Ellen home, it had been just one problem after another in the Zinman household. Mostly for Jillian.

Harrison shook his head, turning toward her. "Your sisters are something else."

"Try living with them," Jillian replied.

* * *

They finished the decorations and flopped onto the couch to admire their work. It looked a little strange seeing the Happy Birthday banner hanging over the Christmas garland, but Jillian had tried to give the room a humorous spin, like tying balloons to the necks of the stuffed reindeers and putting a birthday hat on the singing Santa Claus. Still, Jillian told herself with a sardonic smile, the first-graders coming probably would not care as long as there was cake.

Jillian flicked on the radio to get some tunes going and found a station that was playing non-Christmas rock songs. "I hope I get my own CD player this year," she commented, bobbing her head as The Who sang about a deaf, dumb, blind kid playing a mean pinball. "No more mixtapes on the ol' cassette player."

"Yeah, but you can't hit 'record' on a CD player," Harrison countered. "I like being able to record songs off the radio."

Jillian turned to face him. "What have you been getting for Hanukkah this year?"

"Underwear, mostly," Harrison laughed, lacing his thick fingers over his wide, flat stomach. "But my uncle promised to bring me something good tonight when he comes over." Harrison usually got one big present from his parents, and the rest were all practical gifts like school supplies, clothing or cash. Mrs. Cohen had explained to Jillian once that Hanukkah was actually such a minor holiday that some families did not even bother with presents. Jillian had trouble imagining such a thing.

Harrison suddenly frowned. "How much are your parents paying us again?"

"Ten bucks each."

Harrison shook his head with a grimace. "And Mrs. Henly offered to pay us fifteen bucks each just to dress up like clowns."

"Yeah, but we didn't get paid for that job," Jillian reminded him flatly, shooting him a look. Why did he have to bring _that_ up?

"It was still nice," he said wistfully. "Even if our clown act stunk."

"And made kids cry," Jillian cracked darkly.

"Well, it wasn't the _act_ that made them cry," Harrison replied, grimacing again. "It was the pie trick."

"That almost blinded two kids." She kicked at one of the balloons they had left on the floor for the guests, and the whole pile started bouncing off each other. "At least we get into less trouble decorating parties than we do entertaining at them. It's still a good business."

"But not as many clients," Harrison replied. He had not been that interested in dressing up as a clown when Jillian had recruited him back in the fall, but he had been motivated by his cut of the profits. At least as performers they had gotten three jobs easily - even if they had all ended horribly. Harrison shifted his weight, turning to face her. "You know, my cousin's birthday is on Friday," he said slowly. "He's turning four, and I know my aunt will hire us if we want to put on a show. It doesn't have to be a clown act," he added quickly at her frown. "We could learn some magic tricks - nothing with whip cream this time - or we can put on a puppet show or act out a story or something. Benny will like anything. It'd be easy money."

Jillian hesitated. He was right about the lack of clients - besides Mom, they had only one family hire them to help clean and decorate for their two-year-old's birthday. Most folks did not seem interested in hiring two middle schoolers to do a chore they could easily make their own kids do for free. Jillian had to admit it would be nice to perform again - but after what happened to those two kids at Joslyn Henly's party…

"I think we're better off doing the least amount of damage, Harrison," she said. "Alice Brown's parents still want to sue my folks. I don't want to see anyone else get hurt."

"Yeah, but Alice didn't get hurt because of our act," he insisted. "We just have to find what we're good at and do that."

"We're good at decorating," she replied. No trouble thus far. "I think it's fun."

"Yeah, right." He gave her shoulder a light poke. "C'mon, you _like_ showbiz stuff, Jill. Remember at camp when you got up and led the sing-along? You were crazy doing 'A Rig-a-Bamboo'. We should at least try one more time - and we'll keep all our props at my house too," he promised.

She sighed. "I'll have to think about it," she said at last.

Harrison opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly, there came the creak of the basement door opening, and in moments Amanda came carefully down the steps, holding identical paper plates. Jillian could smell melted cheese and tomato sauce even before she reached the last stair. "Mom said to bring you guys a snack," Amanda announced, striding up to Jillian before she passed the other plate to Harrison with a big smile.

"Cool, Pizza Bagel Bites," Harrison grinned back before shoveling one into his huge mouth.

"Don't you mean _hot_ Pizza Bagel Bites?" Jillian winked.

His dark eyes rolled heavenward. "Waka, waka."

"I helped make them," Amanda grinned and swished her dress again, fluttering her blue eyes at the older boy.

"Uh, thanks, Mandy," Harrison said, scooting away.

Jillian bit her cheek to keep from laughing out loud and took a bite - and immediately spat it back out as the taste of spice seared her tongue. "Hot, hot, hot!" she gasped, fanning her tongue and nearly dropping the plate in the process. Her eyes were already tearing up, but she looked down - and it was then that she saw the bottom of mini bagels were all sitting in a red liquid - Dad's Tabasco sauce.

Amanda tittered. "Gotcha!"

"Amanda, that's not funny," Harrison chided, but Amanda seemed unabashed even at his reproach.

Just like she had been with Jillian's toothbrush that morning. Mouth still burning, Jillian slowly handed her plate to Harrison and gritted her teeth. "You have five seconds, kiddo."

The little blue eyes widened, and Amanda turned on her heel.

"Go easy, Jillian," Harrison said as the little feet pounded up the stairs.

"I'm not gonna touch her," Jillian replied, difficult as it was with the heat on her tongue, and cried out, "Five!" She was on her feet and heading for the steps. She looked up in time to see Amanda reach the top -

\- And there was Katie beside her with a blue balloon in her little hands. "Catch!" she sang and tossed the balloon - which fell a lot heavier than it should have.

Jillian instinctively reached out - and the skin burst as it touched her arms, covering her face and clothes in a cool, white substance. She closed her eyes in time, and the smell of shaving cream filled her nostrils.

"Whoa!" Jillian heard Harrison cry.

"Awesome!" Katie whooped as Amanda let out a cheer. She could hear them slap each other high fives.

Jillian wiped white foam as carefully as she dared, blinking to keep the chemicals from stinging her already teary eyes. "You - You - " she sputtered. It did not help that her mouth still felt like a volcano.

"Mary-Ellen told us to get ya," Amanda said. Jillian could see the Cheshire cat grin on her little face. "It was Mary-Ellen's idea."

"You should've been nice to her," Katie chided. "Now you look yucky for the party."

They both giggled at that.

It was too much - and too much like Joslyn Henly's party. Jillian clenched her hands. "I'm gonna _kill_ you both!" she shrieked and bolted forward, pulling herself up the stairs with the handrail.

Both little jaws dropped, and the girls spun around and broke away.

By the time Jillian spilled onto the first-floor hallway, the twins were grabbing their coats from the pegs beside the front door, and the two ran into the snow-covered yard. Jillian started after them.

But she had only gone a few steps when something clamped onto her shoulder, and Jillian scrambled to keep her balance as she was spun around -

\- And found herself staring into a pair of cold green eyes behind a large pair of glasses.

"Jillian Zinman, what _are_ you doing?" Aunt Sophie demanded.

* * *

Jillian sputtered for a moment - and then pointed to the foam on her face and sweater. "Look what they did this time, Aunt Sophie!"

Her aged aunt did not bat an eye. "And how are you choosing to respond, young lady?" she demanded, her croaky voice somehow managing to hold much authority.

Jillian exhaled, slumping her shoulders. "I wasn't gonna _hurt_ them," she insisted. "Just scare them. A little. Honest."

Aunt Sophie's expression did not change. If anything, her thin nose twitched once before the white-haired woman pointed a bony finger to the kitchen. "Talk to your mother. Now." As short as she was, and as funny as she looked in her knitted festive sweater, when Aunt Sophie spoke, Jillian had to obey, so Jillian gritted her teeth and stepped down the hall.

Mom was putting the frosting on Katie's chocolate cake when Jillian came in. Her pink apron was covered in smudges, and Jillian saw she had a streak of brown icing on her thin face as she stared, focused, on her work - but she quickly snapped out of it as Jillian cleared her throat. Mom pushed herself to her feet as soon as her blue eyes fell upon her daughter. "What happened _now_?" she cried in exasperation, grabbing a paper towel to wipe Jillian's black hair.

"Three guesses," Jillian returned, stepping around her mother to grab a cup of water to wash out the hot sauce.

"And your twelve-year-old daughter was ready to mow down two first-graders in revenge," Aunt Sophie said from the doorway, folding her arms.

"I wasn't gonna hurt them," Jillian repeated.

Mom shook her head, causing her tied-back brown curls to jostle. Her exasperated expression evaporated into her no-nonsense look - something Jillian had been getting used to seeing lately. "Jillian, please, no fighting with the twins. It's their birthday."

" _They_ started it," she retorted and quickly told her mother what happened.

Mom's dark brow furrowed further - but Jillian could already see where her allegiances laid even before she spoke. "Yes, they were naughty, but you can choose how you respond," her mother returned sternly. "You're five years older than them. Don't be a bully."

"It was self-defense!" Jillian cried. "They could've blinded me with that shaving cream!"

"No, it was revenge," Mom insisted, "and revenge isn't the answer."

Frankly, Jillian thought, if revenge kept your sisters from permanently damaging your eyesight, it counted as self-defense.

"If you fly off the handle, what makes you better than them?" Aunt Sophie put in.

Mom nodded. "I'll deal with them, sweetie, but it's not your place to extract justice." At Jillian's scoff, she squinted her blue eyes hard and pointed a stern finger. "I mean it, Sophia Jillian Zinman."

The full name.

Jillian sighed. "Fine, fine."

"Now, go get cleaned up," Mom said. "I'll talk to the girls later."

 _Yeah, right_ , Jillian thought bitterly as she ducked past Aunt Sophie and headed into the hall. Why had she expected anything different on the twins' birthday?

Harrison was by the stairs, waiting for her. "How did it go?" he asked carefully.

Jillian rolled her eyes. "Well, you know. Girls got their just desserts. Mom saw I was right along. Weird Al invited me to tour with him."

His huge face became a grimace. "That bad, huh?"

Jillian slumped her shoulders. " _They_ attack me, and _I'm_ the criminal. The girls could come at me with a bomb, and Mom would still say I was the bully for protecting myself." She sighed. "Be glad you're an only child, Harrison."

"Oh, I am. I am," he returned. He ran a hand through his short hair. "You gotta admit though your sisters are really good at practical jokes."

She frowned at him. "They're _nightmares_."

He shrugged. "Well, _sure_ , but remember when we were that age?" he returned. "Our best pranks were to jump out and scare people. The twins are pretty devious."

"They're crazy," Jillian retorted. "They're always blaming their pranks on Mary-Ellen."

"Well, maybe we should go to her for ideas next April Fool's," Harrison grinned weakly.

"Don't even joke," Jillian sniffed before she went upstairs to change.

* * *

A movement from the glass tank in the corner caught her eye as she entered her room, and she turned, sweeping a hand toward her clothes. "Look at what your aunts did, Petey."

The little lizard stared back at her with blank eyes.

She nodded to her reptile. "See? I knew _you_ would understand," she said cynically.

She shedded the now white sweater and grabbed a green hoodie with deep front pockets. She liked wearing green since it brought out her eyes. She was the only one in her biological family with green eyes. Mom insisted Grandma Jill had had them too, but she no longer had any pictures of her - not since they had lived in Elmville, back before the twins were born. Jillian's only other relative with green eyes was Aunt Sophie, but she was Mom's aunt by marriage.

Hoodie in hand, Jillian headed to the bathroom. She hung a fluffy towel around her shoulders and used the removable shower head to rinse her long hair before she sicced a hairdryer on her sopping tresses. Yet she could barely concentrate. She kept thinking about the hot sauce and the shaving cream.

Sometimes, the five-year age gap between Jillian and the girls was a blessing - and sometimes, it was a curse. On the one hand, she could get away with acting silly around the twins, or she could get money just for sitting with them as they watched _Beauty and the Beast_ for the hundredth time while Mom ran to the store. On the flip side, she could not do something about their mean tricks without her parents accusing her of being a bully - even if she was acting entirely in self-defense. And the girls could be horrors when they wanted to be - like the time they had snuck into her room at midnight to give her a haircut. Or the time they had disappeared at the circus and spent the whole time giggling at her panic attack from behind the bleachers. Or the time they had put stinkbugs in her sock drawer. Or the time they had swiped all the underwear from her suitcase - and Jillian had not found out until _after_ she got off the bus at summer camp.

Still, her parents rarely took her side. Doubly so ever since Aunt Sophie came to town. She was long widowed and very independent, but she had moved from her native Elmville to be close to her remaining family in her old age. The twins adored her since she let them get away with murder - and she gave Mom lots of advice on how to handle Jillian's "anger issues."

Finished with her hair, Jillian pulled the green hoodie on and went back into her room long enough to give Petey a treat for being so understanding. She sighed and reached down to stroke Petey's soft head as if that would chase away her troubles. "Mom's been acting differently ever since Alice's party," she told the lizard. "You know the one I'm talking about."

The Browns were still not speaking to any of them, except through their lawyers. Though Mom and Dad never said it, Jillian could not help but notice that Aunt Sophie had never tried to purchase the long-empty house next door until after _that_ disaster. As if Jillian needed another pair of eyes on her to make sure she did not mess everything up again - not that it was even _her_ fault to begin with, but that did not seem to matter to the grown-ups.

"No wonder they think I can't do anything right," she sighed. Petey just nudged her hand, wanting more pets. "At least you believe in me, buddy."

Such a glum day for a party, she thought ruefully as she glanced out the window to see a fresh cascade of snowfall. Sometimes, she wished that something would just _happen_ that would right all the wrongs - where Mom and Dad would take her side against the twins, where Aunt Sophie did not treat her like a criminal for fighting back, where she could show them that she was not incompetent. She wished for that the same way she wished she could have a birthday party that did not end in a horrible disaster.

And look where wishing got her.

She kissed her fingers and pressed them to the lizard's leathery head before she returned the lid of the glass cage and headed back downstairs. She reached the bottom step just as the doorbell rang.

"Jillian, can you get that?" Mom called from the kitchen. "That must be the ventriloquist."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Advice is appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Jillian pulled open the oaken door to a blast of cold air and a very familiar face. "Jimmy O'James, I presume?" she said politely, tilting her head back to meet the pair of dark eyes above her.

The dark-haired man blinked. "You're too young to know that quote."

Jillian shrugged. "My parents watch a lot of old movies," she replied.

"Fair enough," Jimmy chuckled and stepped through the door, lugging a huge leather case by its worn handle. As the ventriloquist beat off the dusting of snow from his big coat, humming under his breath, Jillian took a moment to give him a sweeping glance. She was used to seeing him onstage, but up close she saw he had dark circles under his eyes, as if he did not get much sleep, but he had a pleasant face. He was young, probably in college, with broad shoulders and short brown hair. As he pulled off his winter coat, Jillian saw he had on the same black turtleneck sweater and pants he always wore for his performances.

She shook her head. It was hard to believe that such a friendly-looking guy could tell such mean jokes at his audience's expense, though the twins seemed to enjoy it - which was why he was here, she reminded herself.

"Need help carrying that, Mr. O'James?" Jillian offered, pointing to the large case. She could already guess what was inside it.

A strange expression crossed the ventriloquist's young face - but then he gave her a smile. "Nah, I'm good. Slappy here doesn't like just anybody carrying him." He gave her a wink. "I throw him in here when he's been acting up - which is all the time."

Suddenly, there came a sharp rap from the direction of the case, causing Jillian to start. "I heard that, creepface!" came a muffled, raspy voice.

Jimmy gave the handle a shake - rough enough to cause its cargo to rattle and send the collection of snowflakes flying. "You promised you'd be good today," he warned, "or you'll be taking a long nap when we get home, dummy."

A soft grumble came from the trunk but then went silent.

Jillian guessed he was trying to amuse her, and she did not want to hurt his feelings, so she said, charitably, "You're really good at not moving your lips." It was the truth. Even if she did not get his humor, she did admire his skill.

"I try," he chuckled as he carefully checked the latch of the case. He then looked her up and down. "Are you one of the seven-year-old birthday girls?" he joked.

Jillian decided he had a nice smile and gave him one of her own. "Nah, I'm their sister," she explained. "I'm Jillian. My mom's in the kitchen if you want to see her."

He gave a smooth flourish with his spidery hand. "Lead on, Henry Stanley," he returned and followed her to the back of the house.

Mom was putting the 7-shaped candle on Amanda's cake (decorated with pink roses) as they came in, and she stood to shake Jimmy's hand. "Katie and Amanda have been looking forward to this all week," she said after they traded a few pleasantries. "Jillian is always taking them to your shows. She wants to be a performer too."

Jillian's mouth twitched, but she said nothing.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "I don't mean to be a pest, Mrs. Zinman, but is there a room where I can prepare? Preferably quiet?"

"Well, the party is going to be in the basement rec room," Mom explained. "You can use my husband's workshop right next to it. Just close the door and make sure none of the children mess with the sharp objects," she added, half-jokingly.

"I'll be sure that they're out of reach of little hands," Jimmy promised and cast a look at his leather case. " _Every_ little hand."

* * *

"You know, Tabasco on a Pizza Bagel ain't half bad," Harrison commented as he helped himself to Jillian's abandoned plate.

"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full," replied Jillian.

They sat side by side on the carpeted staircase, sandwiched between the living room with the soft murmurs of the four lingering parents and the den with the wild gaggle of first graders. Jillian could hear Katie's squeaky voice, the loudest of them all, leading the ruckus while Amanda kept scolding her to be quiet because her group was trying to watch their _Peanuts_ movie.

"So, what's the ventriloquist like?" Harrison asked around another spicy bagel.

Jillian shrugged. "He seems nice enough," she said. "Even if he did make that one kid cry a few months ago." She understood that insult humor was a popular form of comedy; still, when that little boy began to cry on stage, Jimmy O'James had started to shake his dummy hard, telling him to apologize - but he had kept making Slappy say horrible things to the child anyway.

Real hilarious.

"Some kids are more sensitive than others," remarked Harrison, who had missed that performance. "I guess you gotta know your audience for that kind of humor to work."

"That's true," she conceded, fingering her shoelaces. "The twins think he's the funniest thing ever, so whatever makes them happy on their birthday." Just along as Jimmy did not use Slappy to target them with bad jokes, she thought darkly. Amanda teared up whenever anyone teased her; Katie never cried, but she turned into a little bulldog when she got upset. Jillian could already see her stopping the birthday show to insist Jimmy apologize to both of them. _That_ would be an interesting scene...

Meanwhile, Harrison gave her a grin. "Ventriloquism is pretty cool. You can come up with all kinds of insults, and it's just part of the act. I wish I had a dummy."

"You are a dummy," she said, causing him to laugh.

Harrison thought everything was cool. Way back in first grade she had tricked him into eating a bowl of mud, but instead of tattling, he had asked if she wanted to be his best friend. That had been five years ago, and he had never once tried to get her back for it. He was weird like that - but in a good way.

"He's toned down his act lately though, hasn't he?" Harrison commented. "Slappy didn't have the same attitude the last time I saw them."

She shrugged. "I guess. Jimmy also stopped calling kids up to the stage too. He and Slappy just trade insults now." Maybe enough parents had complained, she figured.

"I might put on a puppet show for my cousin's birthday," Harrison continued. "I wanna ask Jimmy O'James if he has any tips." He glanced at her. "It would be nice if I wasn't doing it alone."

Before Jillian could reply, Mom passed by then on her way to the living room, a tray of refreshments no doubt meant for the parents in her hands. "Sweetie, could you go downstairs and offer Mr. O'James something to drink? Tell him we have soda and water bottles."

Talking about timing.

"Duty calls," she told Harrison and got to her feet.

* * *

Jillian had barely gone halfway down the wooden stairs when she heard low voices. Though she could not make out the words, she could tell that there were two - and both sounded angry. She stopped, frowning. Was one of the parents down here with the ventriloquist already?

Then she remembered.

"He's just rehearsing," she told herself and kept going. Before she reached the bottom, she saw that the workshop door was open a crack.

"I mean it," said the voice that was obviously Jimmy's, "you're not going to ruin this party with your attitude - you know you can't do any evil this week, or it's lights out. Forever."

"Same song, second verse," came a raspy growl.

"We have bills to pay," Jimmy continued to scold. "And the radiator needs to be fixed - unless you _like_ sleeping in sub-zero temperatures. And your little suits don't come free, buddy."

"There's such a thing as a five-finger discount," the raspy voice returned.

Jimmy uttered a scoff. "You're impossible."

Jillian crept forward across the rec room. She had witnessed many of Jimmy's performances, so she knew he liked to have his puppet throw increasingly ugly insults at him over the course of a show - but this did not sound like his normal comedy act. If anything, Jimmy sounded even more frustrated. She peeked through the crack, and she spotted the two by the worktable. Jimmy's back was to her, but she could see he had one hand on the arm of the dummy - Slappy.

The wooden figure stared with a cocky grin at his ventriloquist, his dark brow furrowed over large, blue eyes, giving him an intense gaze. He had a wave of wooden hair, painted brown, and a wide, red smile that gave him strange, prominent cheekbones dotted with freckles. He wore a red-and-white sport jacket and had a matching bowtie on a white shirt. Though he was dressed like an adult, Jillian thought he looked more like a child next to his tall, broad-shouldered partner.

Jimmy leaned down. "Look, you've been doing your good deeds each week - "

"Under protest."

" - And I've given you a _lot_ of leg room," Jimmy continued as if uninterrupted. "I _could_ have been a bean counter and called you out on that thing you did to the neighbor's new rocking chair, and you would've been firewood right then and there. But I didn't. I showed you mercy. Because I know you _can_ be a good dummy, even if it's only to save your own skin. You have free will. You can choose to do what's right, Pinocchio."

"Yes, but I choose to do what's fun," Slappy said defiantly.

Jimmy leaned down, shaking a finger at the carved countenance. "Listen, you got one more deed to do before this week is up. Believe it or not, I don't want this to be the end. I want you to learn to be good."

"And I want to rule the world with a green-eyed dish by my side. Get used to disappointments, geek."

 _What a weird act_ , Jillian thought. Should she interrupt and still offer him a soda? Or should she wait until he was done rehearsing? Given the anger in both voices, she was not sure if she wanted to knock - though it was _just_ an act, she told herself. A pretty convincing act, but an act nonetheless.

She started to step away when Slappy began to speak again - and his raspy voice took on such a sweet, little-boyish tone that Jillian was struck by the contrast and looked again at the rehearsal.

"Jimmy, could I do bad things if it was in self-defense?" the dummy asked. "Would the curse allow me to, say, throw rocks at a wood-eating monster? Or stop a wicked witch about to kill a puppy?"

Jillian saw Jimmy hesitate; he was still hunched over, his eyes level with the puppet's. "Well, it wouldn't be evil if it was self-defense," he said slowly. "As long as it wasn't an outright war crime, I wouldn't think it was wrong."

"So, if someone were threatening my life, it wouldn't be evil?" Slappy asked, giving him an innocent smile.

"I guess not."

"Why don't we get into the spirit of the holidays?" Slappy asked pleasantly - and suddenly he swung his wooden arm. "Season's beatings, dork!" His little fist connected with the ventriloquist face - and Jimmy staggered back with a cry, clutching his nose.

Jillian could only gasp.

The young man uttered a growl. "That is the last str - " but he did not get beyond that. He froze in place, his dark eyes falling upon the doorway.

And Jillian.

* * *

She quickly recovered and pushed the door open. "Are you alright?" she gasped.

The dummy's large eyes bulged as she burst in - and for a fraction of a second, he seemed to lean forward, staring at her, his jaw slowly lowering...

...Then Jimmy released him, and Slappy slumped back against the wall, his head making a _clonk_ sound.

Jimmy stepped between her and the puppet. "Oh, didn't see you there," the ventriloquist laughed nasally, pinching his nose with the sleeve of his black sweater. "You need something?"

"You're bleeding!" she cried. Her eyes shot around him to the dummy, who continued to look blankly at her, his face frozen in that strange smile. "He hit you!"

Jimmy blinked, looking at her as if she had just spoken Klingon to him. "What? ...No, no, that's part of the act I was trying out. I swung his hand too hard and decked myself. Call me a klutz," he chuckled. He gave the dummy a push with his free hand, and the little body fell to its side - but the blue eyes seemed to remain on Jillian.

But that was silly. Jillian looked away, feeling foolish - and tried to ignore the sudden chill. "I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "I meant it _looked_ like he hit you. You're really good, Mr. O'James."

"Thanks." Jimmy cleared his throat. "Do you need something, Janet - uh, Jillian?"

"What?" She shook herself, remembering why she was down here. "Mom told me to ask if you wanted a drink," she explained. She glanced again at the ventriloquist's concealed nose. "Uh, do you need me to bring you down the First-Aid kit?"

The young man sniffed a little. "Yeah, I think that would be wise."

* * *

Slappy was sitting up again by the time Jillian returned, and she tried not to look at him as she handed the kit to the ventriloquist. She had never cared for dolls even when she was little - it was weird to see those blank, staring expressions on not-quite-human faces - but something about this dummy's gaze was creepier than normal. Even though she knew that was completely silly.

Jimmy had pulled Dad's wooden bench next to the worktable, and he now sat near the puppet as he applied a Q-tip dotted with disinfectant to his nostril and accepted the box of tissues Jillian had retrieved for him.

She gave him a sympathetic look. "That little guy can really do damage, huh?"

Jimmy did not reply right away. "Yeah. He can."

Silence fell between them, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock by the closet - and Jillian could still feel lifeless eyes on her. She fidgeted with the sleeve of her green hoodie, turning her back to the puppet. She glanced around the well-lit workshop at the shelves full of tools and paint cans as if that would help her find a good conversation topic, and she wondered how Jimmy must have felt when he walked in and saw the working table saw in the middle of the room (even if it did have a safety cover on the blade). Dad loved carpentry: he used to work with his uncle at a sawmill when he was a teenager. He had made quite a lot of things ever since he built his workshop five years before, though he could be a perfectionist. It took him six months to finish the coffee table up in the living room because he kept taking it apart - though she doubted Jimmy would want to hear about that.

"You know," she said at last, "my sisters are really looking forward to today. They've gone to a lot of your shows at the Little Theater, and they always come home wishing they got called up onstage to meet Slappy."

Jimmy gave an apologetic smile. "There are a lot of kids at my shows." His voice sounded stuffy. "I can only pick so many."

"That's what I told them," Jillian nodded. She tried to keep her face polite. "They like it when Slappy is rude."

"People usually do," Jimmy replied - and to her surprise, he sounded a little… rueful? "It pays the bills though," he said with resignation. "The jokes I like are way too goofy, even for children's theater."

Considering his act could consist of the dummy comparing the ventriloquist to a worthless penny, Jillian did not think his humor could get much worse. She gave him a sympathetic smile as she leaned against the worktable. "Tell me one."

He hesitated. "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" she replied.

"Dishes."

"Dishes who?"

"Dishes a very bad joke," Jimmy said with a wry chuckle.

"She doesn't want to hear _that_ , moron," came a raspy voice behind her, causing her to start. "Who taught you how to entertain a lady?"

Jimmy shot the dummy a dirty look. "Shut your face," he ordered.

Jillian shook herself - it was just pretend, she chided the butterflies in her stomach - and gave the ventriloquist a small grin. "What do you call a boy who finally stands up to bullies?"

The young man's dark eyes flicked to her. "What?"

"An ambulance."

That made Jimmy smile - that nice smile. For some odd reason, that made her heartbeat increase. She suddenly wanted to tell him another joke.

"What do you get from a pampered cow?" Jimmy did not know. "Spoiled milk."

The friendly grin stretched.

\- And it was then that a raspy voice growled, "Why are you wasting your breath on _him_ , sweet eyes?"

She whirled around, facing the dummy. ...Did he look annoyed? No, no. That was just his weird expression. "You're pretty good, Mr. O'James," she complimented, trying to conceal her shiver.

"You're talking to the wrong dummy, darlin'," the motionless puppet cracked. Even without his jaw moving, Jillian could almost believe the voice was really coming from him - she had to admire the ventriloquist for that. "Why don't you tell _me_ a joke?" Slappy demanded.

 _Uh…_ She cleared her throat. "Knock, knock."

"Come in," Slappy replied sweetly.

Jillian had to laugh at that one. "See? You have a good sense of humor, Mr. O'James!" Maybe he just needed some positive encouragement.

Jimmy opened his mouth - but Slappy cut him off. "Wanna hear a riddle?" he asked her. Before she could respond, he pressed on, "Stop me if you heard this one. What's the best-looking thing in this room?"

"What?" she asked.

"Not Jimmy!" the dummy shrieked, and a high-pitched giggle came from the body.

"You're hilarious," Jimmy said tightly, giving the wooden shoulder a rough shove. "Leave the kid alone now - or you're going back in the case until the show starts."

"You're just jealous because you wouldn't know a good joke if it dropped a building on you, soft head," Slappy shot back.

Jillian smiled at the ventriloquist. "It's pretty neat how you can throw your voice and laugh without moving your lips," she said with sincerity. "My best friend, Harrison, wants to learn ventriloquism so that he can prank people."

"Why else does anyone want to learn ventriloquism?" Jimmy replied, adjusting the tissue. "I used to fool my little sister that way."

She nodded and glanced again at Slappy; in the right light, he did not look too bad - still a little creepy, but sorta cute. In an ugly, weird way. "It kinda reminds me of Pinocchio - we had to read the book for school last year," she explained, studying the little checked bowtie. "At the beginning Pinocchio was just a block of wood, but he could speak, and he scared the carpenter that found him. Then Geppetto came over, and Pinocchio started insulting him." She smiled a little at the memory. "It was a funny scene. Geppetto thought the carpenter was doing it, so they started fighting. Nobody believed the block of wood was really alive - until after he was a puppet and wrecked everything. Geppetto even had to go to prison because of him."

She glanced at the ventriloquist - and saw a strange expression on his face. At her look, he quickly gave a friendly smile. "That's... very interesting." Jimmy cleared his throat. "So, your mother mentioned that you want to be an actress?"

Her throat tightened. She shrugged, keeping a straight face. "I used to. Don't anymore."

"Oh," he nodded. "Any reason for that?"

She looked away. "I'm just better at decorating." She jerked a thumb toward the door. "I did the rec room."

"Was that you?" Jimmy said with admiration. "I thought the birthday hat on Santa was funny."

"It 'sleighed' him," Slappy threw in.

"Thanks," she mumbled. She glanced at Jimmy again to see a small smile peeking around his tissue. No trace of irony. No comparing her work to dog vomit. He looked like he meant it - and he really did have kind eyes, she thought. She could not help noticing they were the same shade of brown as a Hershey Kiss.

"Performing isn't for everyone," Jimmy said with a small shrug. "We all got our talents - and some people are better at decorating. There's a need for those folks in the world."

She winced and looked down at Slappy's shiny black shoe. "I would _like_ to perform," she said softly. "I even had my own clown act. It's just... whenever I do - " The words caught in her throat, and she swallowed.

The ventriloquist gave her a sympathetic look - genuine sympathy, it seemed. "We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Jillian. Performing takes practice. Nobody's perfect the first time."

"Except me," Slappy rasped.

 _But that's not my problem_. She hesitated - and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Do you believe in bad luck, Mr. O'James?"

The young man glanced at his dummy. "I believe in a lot of things, Jillian. Bad luck is the least of them." His grin returned. "I guess it comes from working in a theater. We're a very superstitious bunch," he laughed - he had a pleasant laugh.

That made her feel a little better. She fingered the edge of the worktable and sucked in a deep breath. "Something bad always happens whenever I do a party," she confessed.

He tilted his head. "Like what?"

She grimaced. "I... once did a clown act for a girl named Joslyn," she said. "My friend, Harrison, and I brought a bunch of magic tricks to entertain the kids, like these trick playing cards that squirted water and this pie pan that sprayed whip cream."

He nodded. "I've seen those things at The Magic Place."

"That's where we got them," she explained. "But we goofed the card trick because we forgot to put the water inside, so we moved on to our pie trick." She looked down at her hands. "That was a disaster," she said softly.

"What happened?" Jimmy asked - in that kind tone.

Her mouth twitched. "We got two kids to come up and sniff the pie. We were planning to squirt ourselves, not them, but Harrison squeezed the pump too soon, and it sprayed into their eyes."

"Ooh," Jimmy groaned. The bench creaked as he leaned forward. "Well, you can't blame yourself for that, Jillian. Accidents happen."

Jillian raised her eyes to meet his. "But it wasn't whip cream," she whispered. "The kids began screaming and screaming and screaming - and when we went to check it..." She swallowed dryly. "...There was _soap_ in the pie."

Jimmy blinked. "Wow."

"That was only the start," she continued with a wince. "The week after that was Eddie Simkin's party. We had it down here in our basement since his house got flooded. Everything went well until we got to the piñata. Eddie got up on his second turn, and he swung the bat hard enough to break a hole - and cockroaches came out with the candy."

"Wow," Jimmy repeated.

Jillian exhaled. "And it gets worse." Her throat tightened. "On Halloween, one of our neighbors hired us and also asked Mom to bake chocolate cupcakes. I was with Mom when she mixed the batter. But then Alice, the birthday girl, took one bite of her cupcake, and there were peanuts inside it."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Jimmy said.

Jillian met his dark gaze. "Alice has a severe nut allergy."

" _Oh_."

Jillian thought she heard a snicker. She glared at the ventriloquist. "It's not funny," she snapped.

"I know it's not," Jimmy said, elbowing his dummy as he shifted on the bench. "My nose is just stuffed up," he explained, and he sniffed for emphasis. "Was Alice okay?"

"She lived - if that's what you mean," she exhaled. "Her parents still want to sue, and my folks are still trying to make it up to them." She pressed her lips together. "I thought at first, maybe, my little sisters might have done it - but they had already gone out with Dad to go trick-or-treating. It was just Mom and me in the house."

The girls always had an alibi, Jillian thought glumly. On the day of Josyln's party, Mom had dropped them off to play with their friend, Stevie, an hour before Jillian had filled the pie. On the day of Eddie's party, they had spent the day at the park with the kids down the street and had come home a little late. They had not left the basement at all once they got there, so there was no window for them to sabotage the piñata.

"So, I don't do parties anymore - I just decorate for them instead," she finished. "My parents didn't do any of those mean tricks. I sure as anything didn't do it, so… who did? Or _what_ did?" She looked at her clenched hands. "Better safe than sorry."

"It's quite the mystery," Jimmy agreed. He shifted, and Jillian saw his eyes flick toward his dummy. "Sometimes," he said after a long moment, "things happen with no natural explanation. So, why not supernatural?"

Jillian shuddered. "You think so?"

Jimmy nodded, turning back to her. "Sherlock Holmes said in one of his stories, 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'"

She bit her lip. "That might be even worse," she said quietly.

"Indubitably." He lowered his tissue, frowning at the soiled material. "Um, Jillian, I don't mean to interrupt, but my nose is still bleeding. I may need to see a doctor."

* * *

"Okay, kids, everyone into the basement!" Mom's voice rang from the top of the steps then.

"Time for the show!" Jillian heard Katie's squeaky voice chant over the stampede of little feet, and Amanda followed suit. "Time for the show! Time for the show!"

"Oh, great," Jillian murmured as Jimmy got to his feet. She followed him into the next room just as Mom and the other parents reached the bottom.

Mom gasped when she saw Jimmy. "Are you alright, Mr. O'James?!"

"I don't know," he admitted, lowering his very red tissue.

Mom turned to Jillian then. "Jillian, can you and Harrison help supervise the kids while I help Mr. O'James?"

"Sure, Mom."

The four parents went over to the kids then to scold their own children for being rowdy, and Harrison stepped over to her. "Now, what?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She spotted Katie and Amanda, who easily towered above the other girls and even some of the boys. They were both bouncing on the balls of their feet, excitedly talking to their friend, Stevie Shapiro. Each girl held the hand of Mary-Ellen.

"Poor kids," Harrison sighed.

"Maybe we can tell knock-knock jokes to entertain them," Jillian murmured.

"Or you can sing 'A Rig-a-Bamboo'," Harrison returned.

Just then one of the speeding seven-year-old girls tripped and let out a shriek of pain. Harrison quickly went over to assist the little kid and helped her limp over to the couch while one of the mothers came over to inspect the injury.

Jillian glanced again at her sisters. Both of pairs of blue eyes were gleaming like stars as the girls hopped around, seeming to forget they were surrounded by Christmas decorations with crummy birthday decorations atop them in an attempt to make it look like a proper party. Jillian sighed inwardly before she crossed the room and grabbed both girls by the wrist, pulling the duo and their doll over to the side. "Guys, guys, calm down," Jillian ordered.

"It's time for the show!" Katie grinned. "Time to see Slappy!"

"Mary-Ellen's been waiting _forever_ for it," Amanda announced, pointing to her toy.

 _And she'll be waiting a lot longer_ , Jillian thought, and she quickly told the girls what happened - leaving out the bit where Jimmy had swung Slappy's hand into his own nose.

The sparkles in both pairs of eyes died simultaneously.

"This stinks!" Katie cried, her squeaky voice breaking.

"Hey, we can still have fun," Jillian encouraged. "We still got games to play - and two cakes, remember?"

"B-But we waited and waited to see Slappy!" Amanda wailed. Her blue eyes were beginning to tear up. "Mary-Ellen wanted to meet him!"

"Hey, don't cry," Jillian said quickly, patting her arm. She glanced at the door of the workshop - and mentally kicked herself for thinking that thought. Bad idea, Jillian. Jimmy would not like anyone messing with Slappy while he was gone. Besides, the girls did not want to see a lifeless dummy. The fun of puppets came from the puppeteers.

...But it _was_ their birthday.

She nudged her head toward the door. "C'mon - but be quiet," she warned.

* * *

Jillian ushered Katie and Amanda into the workshop, doll in tow - and both girls stopped, uttering gasps.

"Slappy!" Amanda cried happily.

"Keep quiet," Jillian cautioned as she shut the door, muffling the excited shrieks of the party guests.

The dummy stared back at the twins, his grin frozen in place. Katie and Amanda crept forward, and for a moment Jillian thought they looked shy.

"Mary-Ellen likes his bowtie," Amanda murmured as she held the doll up.

Katie leaned forward but did not reach out for the puppet like she would have normally done. "How does he work?"

"Harrison told me once," Jillian replied, glad for her friend's hobby. "There's a string inside, and you pull on that to make his mouth move."

Katie's little eyes flicked to her older sister. "Can you make him talk?"

For a moment the painted eyes seemed to flash with excitement - but when she looked again, they were glassy once more. Like they always were, she told herself. "He doesn't belong to me," she said, turning to her sisters. "We look with our eyes, not our hands."

"Real quick - we won't tell anyone!" Amanda pleaded, adjusting her grip on Mary-Ellen, and the two began to beg in unison, "Please? Please? Please?"

Jillian opened her mouth to say no, but they looked so earnest that she felt herself caving in despite the warning in her gut. "Only if it's quick - then we're outta here, got it?" The girls nodded eagerly. She started to reach for the dummy - and stopped.

His large eyes were still watching her - almost as if they were really looking at her, waiting for her next move.

She suppressed a shudder. "Do you mind, Slappy?" she asked - and, realizing how that sounded, she added in a joking voice, "If it's okay, don't say anything."

His grin seemed to widened, but that was just a trick of the light, she told herself as she gingerly pulled the dummy closer. She slipped her hand through the hole in his back, and she felt a small shiver pass through the dummy - no, no, she just jiggled him too hard. Her fingers soon discovered the string to move his wooden jaw. She tugged it a few times, experimenting. She felt the shiver again - so she quickly adjusted her grip on his shoulder to keep him from shaking.

"Thanks for coming to the party," she told the puppet. "Can you wish Katie and Amanda a happy birthday, Slappy?"

"A happy birthday, Slappy," she had him return, and she tried to imitate the hoarse voice Jimmy O'James gave him.

"Boo!" Katie stuck out her tongue.

"I liked it!" Amanda insisted.

Jillian fought to keep her smile and patted the dummy's brown head with her free hand. "Now, Katie, I think Slappy's funny," she smiled. "Funny looking."

"And I think you're pretty, Jillian," Slappy replied sweetly as she tried to make his mouth move with each syllable. "Pretty stupid."

That was one of Slappy's trademark digs, but it still made Katie and Amanda giggle like they were hearing it for the first time.

"Figures you laugh when _I'm_ insulted," Jillian said, pretending to be offended as she planted her free hand on her hip. She must have jostled the dummy with that movement though. Slappy's head rolled back, resting against her shoulder. She heard a soft sound, almost like a sigh - but that was probably just the wind, which was starting to pick up just outside the little snow-covered window above her head. Jillian quickly straightened the dummy. "Your head gonna fall off there, buddy?" she demanded.

"Your jokes are making me snore!" she had him reply.

"More! More!" Katie chanted, bouncing on her heels.

"Why couldn't you guys be like this when you watched my clown act?" Jillian returned with a mock whine. She remembered then that Jimmy O'James usually ended his act with a song, switching between his normal voice and Slappy's, so she turned to the dummy and said, "I like your suit, Slappy. You look like you belong in a barbershop quartet."

She made Slappy move his head as if scanning the room. "Well, I see three other dummies around here. Let's get a bucket."

"Why?" she asked, pretending to be surprised.

"So you can carry a tune!"

She shook a stern finger at his grinning face. "Wait until you hear me sing before you criticize," she chided the puppet. "If you're so good, why don't you do it?"

"Watch the master," he replied, and she made him clear his throat, shaking his thin shoulders. " _Today is a birthday. I wonder for whom. It might be for someone right here in this room. Sooo, look all around you for somebody who is smiling and laughing. My goodness it's y -_ "

Jillian abruptly stopped, coughing. "Man, that's straining!" she choked.

Still, the girls giggled - and that made it worth it.

Jillian cleared her throat and tried the little-boy voice Jimmy sometimes used for his dummy, which proved much easier, and continued with the song. " _Happy birthday, Katie-and-Amanda_ ," she sang, saying their names in a rush that made the girls' grins stretch, " _from all of us to you. Happy birthday, Katie-and-Amanda. May all of your wishes come true_ \- "

It was then she heard a creak. She jumped and looked toward the door - and saw Jimmy O'James watching her.

Jillian started forward, nearly losing her grip on Slappy, and quickly handed the dummy back to him. "Sorry, I just - "

Jimmy gave a weak laugh, putting his hand inside the puppet's back as his other arm supported the skinny legs. "No problem," he said, his voice still a little nasal.

Slappy raised his head. "No problem at _all_ , sweet eyes," he rasped, his own blue eyes meeting hers. He gave her a wink.

Jillian felt her face heat.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Uh, Slappy, what did you think of Jillian's singing just then?"

The dummy gave a snort. "That was singing?" he asked. "Wow, here **_I_** thought we were trying to contact the mother ship!"

The twins burst out laughing at that, and Jillian found herself chuckling a little too.

"I kid though. She's a real sweetheart," the dummy said, turning his head toward Jillian. He leaned forward - and, strangely, his wooden eyes seemed to grow interested. "I know we've just met, but I'm inspired to say three little words just to you, sweet eyes."

Jillian blinked. "What?"

Jimmy stiffened. "What."

Slappy ignored him. His raspy voice took on a syrupy tone as his intense eyes seemed to soften. "Jillian Zinman, I just want to say… _get a manicure_!" he shrieked.

Jillian winced at the shrill voice and gave another laugh. "Good one, Slappy," she said, playing along.

The dummy bowed with a cocky smile. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night."

"Unfortunately," Jimmy said, shooting the dummy a look. "Time for the show. C'mon, birthday girls."

He led them into the rec room and took his seat upon a tall stool. It took a few minutes for the parents to settle the party guests into rows, but finally the room was quiet enough for Jimmy to begin. Katie and Amanda plopped themselves right in front of him, Mary-Ellen between them.

"So, Slappy, how do you like this snow we've been having?" the ventriloquist asked.

"I like it yellow - and in _your_ coffee," Slappy replied, and that made the little kids erupt into mischievous giggles.

"Now, now, be a gentleman, Slappy," Jimmy scolded. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

"Did _your_ mother teach you how to be stupid?" he shot back.

Thus the act continued. Jillian and Harrison hung at the back with the parents as Jimmy and Slappy traded insults. Every so often, she noticed the dummy's large eyes would flick to the side and meet hers - but that was silly, she chided herself. Jimmy was just randomly working his controls and probably meant for Slappy to be looking at the seated children instead. He just had bad aim.

By the end of the act, Jillian noticed that Jimmy had not tried to make Slappy smack him again.

* * *

A/N: While I try to avoid copying dialogue ad naseum from the canon (except where necessary), I have to say that the "three little words" joke from RotLD was too good to pass up. (At least I didn't quote it verbatim.)

Thanks for reading! Advice is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy had to admit that the act had gone pretty well. Aside from a few deviations from the script where Slappy compared the ventriloquist's face to a mud pile, there had been no disasters: no trying to kick either of the birthday twins in the face when the little girls leaned in too close, no trying to bite anyone on the nose, no screaming death threats at the top of his lungs. He had not even thrown a single fat joke at the lone chubby kid. For Slappy, this was the height of etiquette.

And Jimmy was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You've been a beautiful audience," Jimmy said as he rose to his feet, and the kids clapped.

"You have a liberal definition of 'beautiful,'" Slappy cracked over the noise.

Jimmy stepped around the children and disappeared into the small workshop. Once the door was closed, he looked down at the dummy tucked under his arm. "Not bad."

Slappy formed a smug smile. "Could you doubt me?"

"In a heartbeat," Jimmy replied and promptly dumped him on the worktable.

The dummy merely snickered as he sat up and straightened his jacket, for all the world looking like a little boy enjoying his favorite board game - and Jimmy was just the top-hat token he had left in the box. The sad thing was Jimmy had gotten used to it.

Jimmy folded his arms, giving the smirking puppet a sweeping glance. It had been months since he had found the dummy - and had foolishly read aloud the words on a slip of yellowed paper in his old gray jacket, bringing the haunted toy to life. Now, he was stuck with him. Slappy was a rude, conniving little sadist, interested in whatever amused him most, but for the first few weeks, the dummy had attempted to behave - a little - since he recognized the benefits of having a business partner with his own car and bank account. For himself, Jimmy had needed a new dummy for his stage act, and the manager of the Little Theater had been so impressed with "Jimmy's" ventriloquism skills that they had gotten hired right after their audition. Then they had done their first show together - and it had all gone downhill from there.

Jimmy grimaced at the memory. It had been one thing after another with Slappy, who did not care about bills or Jimmy's professional reputation as he hijacked their act to spread misery on an unsuspecting audience - and Jimmy had finally been ready to get rid of the sociopath once and for all. However, that same day, he had received a package at the theater - a very special package, filled with aged papers in a hand just like the one that had written the ancient words in Slappy's pocket. Among them was a handy little curse meant exclusively for living dolls. Jimmy had no clue who had sent them, but at long last he had had power over the puppet, even if Slappy had been reduced to a bitter husk. So - Jimmy frowned as he surveyed his grinning roommate - where did this change of attitude come from?

"Why so glum, chum?" Slappy giggled, cutting into his thoughts. "Didn't I do the show?"

Jimmy's mouth twitched. "Yes, you did good - well, decent," he amended. "And the Zinmans won't be demanding their money back. If the curse allowed you to do the same deed twice on a cycle, that very well could have been your third one."

The wooden eyes flashed, and that insufferable grin widened. "We-e-ell, Jimbo, if we're looking at deeds, I believe you'll notice that - "

But before the dummy could finish, a knock cut him off. Slappy's jaw snapped shut, and he drooped against the wall just as the knob twisted. Jimmy turned to see both birthday girls push their way through the door, and he gave them a quick smile. "Hello," he greeted with a wave.

Mrs. Zinman had told him their names, but he could not remember which one belonged to whom. There had been an obvious effort to make it easy for people to tell them apart because one wore a ponytail and a pair of overalls while the other one had left her hair hanging over the shoulders of her fancy dress.

"Thank you for coming to our party," the girly one said shyly - was that Amanda? Or maybe it was Katie.

"My pleasure." He nudged his head toward the sitting puppet. "Right, Slappy?"

"Oh, sure, it's a pleasure," the dummy replied without moving his ligneous jaw. "Right up there with foot fungus."

The girls stepped apart, and Jimmy saw that they had been hiding the brown-haired doll that had sat with them during the show. "Mary-Ellen wanted to meet Slappy," the one with the ponytail announced with a squeaky voice.

Jimmy kept his smile in place and quickly scooped up the dummy. He tried not to wince at the red-cheeked plastic face as he stepped closer to the kids. Where in the world did they find that thing? "Hello, Mary-Ellen," Jimmy greeted the staring doll kindly. He turned to the girl with the dress. "Why, she's almost as big as you!" he pretended to gasp.

Slappy leaned forward in his arms as if to inspect the doll. "I like your face," he told her. "Reminds me of the mask I wore last Halloween."

The identical faces darkened. "Don't say that!" Ponytail squawked.

Jimmy pulled the dummy back, giving his skinny shoulder a rough shake. "Sorry, Slappy doesn't know how to talk to girls."

The dummy's head swerved around to glare at him. "Hey there, Pot. Name's Kettle. Nice to meet ya."

Jimmy opened his mouth to retort - but a strange sensation overcame him, and he staggered a little. He rubbed his temple with his free hand. All of a sudden he had the urge to sit down.

Meanwhile, the girl in the dress frowned. "You shouldn't say mean things," she scolded the dummy. "Mary-Ellen says you look nice."

"Well, at least she has good taste," Slappy joked.

Jimmy shot him a warning look - even as he tried to shake off the weird fatigue. "Slappy, be a gentleman. Can't you say something nice to Mary-Ellen?"

"Oh, sure. I can say lotsa nice things," the puppet smiled.

Jimmy waited a moment, but the dummy continued to return his gaze. " _Would_ you?" he pressed.

"Nope!" he chirped.

However, Ponytail giggled at that - and promptly quieted at the look her sister gave her.

Jimmy adjusted his grip on the dummy. He was about to excuse himself and close the door - but the tiredness increased.

 _Lower Slappy_.

Huh? Where did that thought come from? He shook it off and forced himself to say, "Slappy, be nice. It's their birthday."

A sweet smile appeared on his carved lips. "Well, I can say the doll's not the _ugliest_ thing I've ever seen - that honor belongs to your sister."

Ponytail Twin snickered again, and even Dress Girl laughed.

Slappy jerked his head toward her. "See? _They_ like me. Why can't you, Jimmy?"

"I like you as much as you deserve, Slappy." Jimmy turned back to the girls. He again opened his mouth to say good-bye and -

 _Lower Slappy_.

Jimmy found himself leaning forward - just a smidgen. Right before he jerked again. What was he doing?

"Speaking of sisters," the dummy said, turning back to the girls, "you should bring that big sister of yours over here. I sign autographs too."

Dress Girl frowned. "Mary-Ellen doesn't think that would be a good idea."

"Who asked her?" Slappy mocked.

 _Lower Slappy_ , the thought ordered again.

Jimmy reached for the doorknob - but it was so… easy to bend his knees instead. What was the harm? The girls just wanted to see Slappy, so what was wrong with lowering the dummy just a little more -

\- And suddenly he felt Slappy's elbow in his chest.

"Not so close to the freak show, nerd," the raspy voice growled. "I took a bath this morning."

That brought Jimmy back to reality with a jolt. He quickly straightened, turning the dummy from the girls - shielding them from the sociopathic puppet. "Well, I have to put Slappy away," he said, trying to keep the tightness out of his voice. "He gets cranky this time of day. Bye-bye!" He ushered them out and shut the door before the girls had a chance to protest.

* * *

Alone again, he yanked his hand out of the hollow torso and heaved the disgusting dummy onto the wooden table. "You're walking a _fine_ line, pal."

Slappy's head hit the cement wall with a _thud_ , but the dummy did not even seem to notice. He straightened and scooted forward until one boneless leg draped over the edge. "Oh, c'mon! You said I couldn't be rude to the kids. You said _nothing_ about being rude to lifeless toys - or you," he tittered.

"Yeah, but that was _their_ toy," Jimmy shot back, stepping across the bare cement floor until he stood over the small puppet. "It was obviously important to them."

Slappy shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I can't win with you - can I, Jimbo?"

"You're deflecting," Jimmy replied, folding his arms. Then again, Slappy only admitted wrongdoing when he could brag about it; otherwise, he would make it seem like it was someone else's fault. "But you did do the party - and you were good for that little girl, Jillian. For once."

The puppet gave a careless shrug. "I wouldn't call her _little_. Besides," he added with a snicker, "her hands are much softer than yours."

Jimmy narrowed his eyes and shoved the puppet's shoulder, causing his head to smack the wall again. "Don't say stuff like that," he ordered, jabbing a finger at the grinning face. "Are you _trying_ to get me arrested?"

"It's crossed my mind," the dummy returned cheekily. He gave Jimmy a sweet smile and gripped his checked lapels. "Well, your Dishonor, I may be a backwoods country dummy brought to life by black magic, but I would've been well within my rights to mess that young lady up for touching me. But I chose to play the puppet and kept my mouth shut so that she could give the brats a nice show."

Jimmy exhaled. "Yes, you did good," he allowed, narrowing his eyes. "So, what's your angle?"

The painted eyes glittered. "So, for those of you keeping score at home, that means I did my final good deed for the week." His red grin became shark-like. "Right, Jimmy?"

Jimmy took a step back. Slappy made no move toward him - and the young man did not give him a chance. He opened his mouth and promptly spouted out a string of ancient foreign words, keeping his eyes fixed on the dummy. He could say the incantation all in one breath now, and it was not long before it ended, and he felt the weight of the spell settling in on both of them.

Slappy did not even bat an eye. "Are you through, James?" he drawled, tapping his crossed foot against the table.

Jimmy gave the puppet a sweeping glance, mentally kicking himself. He should have noticed the change in the atmosphere when the curse lifted - but he had been too rattled both by his bloodied nose and the shock of seeing those kids messing with the dangerous puppet. "You're oddly calm," he noticed, his frown deepening.

The brown-haired dummy shrugged again. "I think this goody-two shoes stuff is rubbing off on me," he replied. "I'm not even bothered by it now. Weird, right?"

"Very weird," Jimmy replied, narrowing his eyes. "What are you up to?"

Slappy leaned back against the wall. His malleable face formed an expression that could have been called reflective. "Jimmy, how is this all going to end?" he asked. "We're not going to be together forever, so where do you see this partnership concluding?"

Jimmy gritted his teeth, clenching his hands. "Either you reform," he said tightly, "or you go to sleep forever."

The carved head tilted to the side. "No other options?"

"Nope."

The dummy shrugged. "Fine, I'm reformed."

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what the joke is - "

"What else is new?" the puppet snorted.

" - But it's not funny," he said through his teeth.

Slappy shook his head. "I'm a simple dummy with simple desires, Jimmy, and one of those desires is not to die."

Jimmy straightened his broad shoulders and folded his arms, bracing himself for whatever trick the possessed puppet had up his checked sleeve - not that Slappy _could_ kill him with the curse in effect, he reminded himself darkly. His last breath would put the dummy to sleep. But Slappy would if he could. "You're fooling no one, puppet."

The wooden eyes rolled heavenward. "Fine, then I propose a truce."

"Truce?" Jimmy repeated.

Slappy nodded, his chipped grin spreading. "I leave you, live somewhere else, but you keep the stack of papers that the toymaker left behind - all of those funny, little curses that he wrote to make sure his toys never turned on him - and you can monitor me from a distance." He crossed his arms with a satisfied expression. "And we part as the most amicable of frenemies."

Jimmy stiffened. He knew then this was definitely a trick. In what universe would Slappy ever suggest that someone else keep the spells written by his creator? The puppet craved power in a world where he had to play dead. What was his angle? "Where would you go?" he questioned.

The puppet gave a shrug. "I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about it."

Jimmy furrowed his brow. "But?"

Slappy glanced down at his fingertips as if inspecting the tiny scratches left from his previous misadventures. "But, for the sake of convenience, you can always leave me here. With clown girl."

There it was. "Here?" he repeated.

The wooden eyes lifted again, and he nodded. "Sure, do you see how that rec-room looks? I bet the rest of the house is just as good. These folks are obviously well off - at least compared to you. Then again, an outhouse is a better living arrangement than what you got, Jimbo," he leered.

Jimmy said nothing.

At his silence, the painted face slowly darkened, and Slappy leaned forward. "Look, Jim, you have all the curses ol' Popsicle wrote - you could probably cast them from the other side of town if I know my old man. You can keep hold on the leash, but the less we see of each other, the less we will want to kill each other down the road, right? Win-win."

Jimmy snorted. "And what? You'll hold this family hostage?"

The dummy threw up his tiny hands. "How am I going to do that when you _just_ cursed me to do three good deeds without magic?" he shot back. "And how am I going to hurt the parents? The father has his own saw - who knows the state of his mental health?" he added, nodding toward the table saw in the middle of the room.

"You would find a way," Jimmy returned.

"Not while the curse is on me!" the dummy growled. "I'm powerless thanks to my dear poppa's spell - a spell _you_ are in control of, Jimbo."

It was true that the curse kept Slappy from accessing the powers he used to ruin lives - even the supernatural strength in those skinny limbs was diminished to an extent - but what about when the three deeds were done? Jimmy looked him up and down. "Why here?"

Slappy shrugged. "Why not?"

Jimmy shook his head. "I know you. This isn't just some random thought in your head. You're scheming something - and you're not going to get whatever you're after."

The dummy exhaled a pointless breath. "Alright, I'll tell you, Jim." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "I want to know what's happening to that girl."

Jimmy blinked. "You do?"

He nodded, still grinning. "I want to know what's going on in this house. After all, how much excitement do I get in my life between playing dead and hanging around your place?" he demanded. "You don't even have a radio, kiddo. But this is something else! How do peanuts get into cupcakes without anyone noticing? How do cockroaches get into a piñata? I just _gotta_ know, Jimmy!"

The young man snorted. "Why? So, you can learn the techniques for yourself?"

Slappy gave him a half-lidded look. "I don't need to learn some cheap parlor tricks, Jimbo - I just want to know what happened. It's a genuine, bonafide mystery. You know how much I liked _And Then There Were None_!" he grinned.

"The book where everyone dies in the end," Jimmy returned dryly. "So, you're telling me you honestly want to help this girl out? You must really think I'm dumb."

The gleam in the painted eyes dimmed, and the puppet folded his wooden arms. "Fine, take me home then, hypocrite," he growled. "Leave that poor, sweet girl to fend for herself while I use my three good deeds to fold your socks and dust your broken television set. I guess your goody-two-shoes morals only matter when they benefit James Timothy O'James the most. And if that child dies horribly because of _your_ inaction, I hope you don't feel _too_ responsible, sonny jim."

Jimmy winced. Slappy had a point - and that scared him. "What could you even do, puppet?" he demanded.

Slappy chuckled. "What can I _not_ do?"

"Evil, for one," Jimmy growled. He pointed a finger at the wooden face. " _If_ I let you stay here - _if_ , Slappy - you can't do _any_ evil. I mean it."

Slappy raised a hand like a student in a classroom. "Define 'evil'."

"Anything someone like you would enjoy doing."

"Oh, that's just clever," the dummy said dryly. "That's the sort of repartee I'd expect from a guy named James O'James."

Jimmy glowered. "Slappy…"

"Comment withdrawn," the puppet said quickly.

Jimmy shook his head. He could not let himself consider this. He would just take Slappy home and forget this place. That was the safest for everyone involved.

...And yet...

...On the other hand...

...How did peanuts end up in cupcakes for a little girl with allergies?

Jimmy bit his lip, furrowing his brow. And what if something worse happened if he left the Zinman house without trying to help Jillian? Maybe everything was just a misunderstanding, and there was a natural explanation - but what if it _was_ something more? And didn't he have all those stacks of yellowed papers? The curses the evil toymaker had written were more than effective. Slappy only knew of his father through the journal he had left behind, but the dummy had told Jimmy tales of his brothers and sisters who had failed to please their master. The magician might have been many things, but he had not been an idiot. Amidst the toys he brought to life to maim, injure, and torment his customers, he had also created several spells to make sure his merchandise never betrayed him - among them was the curse of good deeds. It stripped his evil children of their powers, forcing them to do three good acts among humans within a week lest they fall asleep forever. According to Slappy, most of them could not even get past the first one.

Now, Jimmy had access to those spells. Could he call himself a good person if he did not use them to aid a young girl in her supernatural plight? He had held off on using those incantations, beyond the three-deed curse, out of mercy for the puppet. Maybe he could extend that mercy to Jillian and now make sure Slappy got the job done.

He finally turned back to the dummy. "I'm not saying I'm gonna let you," Jimmy said slowly, "but if I do, you're going to be on the tightest lease you've ever been. And if I come by and see any of these sisters suffering - if _any_ of them sniffles a little - I'll put you to sleep forever."

Slappy heaved a shrug. "Fair enough."

"And that's all assuming she'll even take you," Jimmy added, shaking a finger at him. "She was a birthday clown. She might not even want a ventriloquist dummy."

A small smirk formed on the chipped mouth. "Who wouldn't want me?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Jimmy held his arms akimbo. "I'll be watching you, Slappy."

The little puppet snorted. "And you're worried about _me_ getting you arrested?"

* * *

Harrison had to go home to help his parents get ready for company, but he hung around long enough to hand the twins their presents. "Here you go," he grinned, passing each girl a candy bar with a bow taped on.

"This is great, Harrison!" Amanda beamed.

Katie shot her a look. "You don't like Snickers."

"I like them _now_ ," she sniffed.

After Harrison left, the twins tore through the rest of their presents. They had only asked for things to give Mary-Ellen, so Mom had given the doll's dress size to the other parents when they had called to RSVP, and now Jillian watched as the twins unwrapped tiny jumpers and apron dresses and frilly skirts, coats and hats and Christmas sweaters. Aunt Sophie gave them a bunch of clothes from her doll collection, and Mom and Dad even presented a doll-sized tea set and a little table and two chairs that Dad had carved (only three months to make).

Jillian saved her presents until the end and handed Katie and Amanda two different-sized lumps which she had personally wrapped.

Amanda got her paper off first to reveal a white teddy bear with a rainbow bowtie. Her thin face broke into a sunny beam. "He's so cute!" she cried, her round eyes sparkling as she hugged it close.

"Mary-Ellen says he looks stupid," Katie sniffed.

"Well, Mary-Ellen can give _you_ a present instead," Jillian frowned, reaching for Katie's half-unwrapped baseball bat, but her sister snatched it up and stuck out her tongue.

With all the presents opened, Mom organized the kids for a relay race, and, without Harrison around, Jillian decided to go upstairs.

She reached the quiet first floor and stepped into the kitchen, intending to get a drink - and saw Jimmy O'James with a water bottle at the table. Slappy sat in the chair next to him, a can of root beer with a bendy straw placed in front of him.

Jimmy's dark eyes flicked to her, and she felt her cheeks heat. "I'm so sorry about earlier," she said in a rush, wringing her hands. "It was stupid, and I wasn't thinking, but the girls would've been so disappointed if they didn't see Slappy - "

The young man gave a friendly laugh, cutting her off. "It's fine," Jimmy returned. "I have a younger sister too. I know what it's like to look out for them."

Jillian gave a weak smile, her skin still flushed. "How's your nose, Mr. O'James?" she asked.

"Much better," he replied with a soft sniff. The bridge had already turned a deep purple. "Your grandma helped stop the bleeding."

It took Jillian a moment to realize he was talking about Aunt Sophie. "That's good," she nodded.

He took a quick sip of water, and she saw him glance at his dummy before he turned back to her. "Slappy liked your performance earlier, Jillian," he complimented. "With enough practice, you could be really good someday."

She sighed. "Well, like I told you, every time I do…"

He gave her a sympathetic look. "Maybe you should try something with a little less props," he suggested. "Have you ever thought about working with puppets?"

She tried to hide her wince. "Well, I've helped my friend put on some puppet shows before," she admitted. Usually, she handled the ones that least resembled humans. "He wants to be a puppeteer and do movies when he grows up."

Jimmy's small grin stretched. "In that case, you should try ventriloquism for your next show. All you have to do is keep an eye on your dummy. Less trouble for you."

She shrugged. "Maybe." That would not have stopped the peanuts from getting put inside the cupcakes, she thought darkly.

Jimmy got to his feet, scooping his dummy up by the collar before he stepped around the table to stand in front of her. Her heart thudded a little as she met his dark eyes - but she was drawn out of some sudden odd thoughts by what he said next: "Why don't you take Slappy? He could use a new home."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He held the wooden figure up. "I already got myself a new Slappy dummy, and I don't need the old one anymore - but I think you deserve a fresh start with your business."

She felt herself frown. "Just like that?"

He nodded. "Tis the season." He rapped upon the painted brown hair. "You won't have to worry about any magic tricks going wrong," he added.

Jillian moved her hands behind her back, stepping away. "I - I couldn't." She looked at the wooden face - with its strange grin and intense eyes - and tried not to grimace. "He's nice and all, but I... I couldn't."

Jimmy's tired eyes softened more. "You shouldn't let some weird happenstance beat you down and destroy your dream. Maybe this is what you've been waiting for." He held the little body out. "I believe in you, Jillian."

She was about to say no again, but something about his kind face made the words die in her throat - and her heartbeat increased again. "Really?" she asked, her voice softened by a sudden shyness.

Jimmy nodded.

She looked again at the dummy, and even his ugly expression seemed to have shifted into a neutral grin. He did not look like much with his pug nose and freckled cheeks, but he was sorta, kinda, just a tiny bit cute - from a distance anyway. And maybe she could come up with some nicer jokes for him to say.

"Alright then," she said at last.

Jimmy's beam widened, and he handed her the limp puppet. She quickly tucked the small body under her arm, facing him outward.

"I best be going now," the young man then said. "Tell your mother I had to run." With that Jimmy collected his bottle and soda can before he grabbed his empty leather case, and Jillian walked him to the front door.

"Merry Christmas!" she called after him and watched as he stepped carefully down the now snow-covered front walk - and stopped halfway, glancing over his shoulder. For a brief moment, his young face looked concerned, but he gave Jillian a big smile and a wink. He continued his trek right to his beat-up car and waved before he drove away.

Jillian closed the door. She could hear the sounds of the party downstairs, but here in the front hall it seemed eerily still all of a sudden. She swung the dummy around and held him out in front of her. _What have I gotten myself into?_

She had not been into dolls as a small child; she had only played with Barbies a handful of times, always at a friend's house. Even when she would watch Harrison's puppet shows, she would usually stop him to ask if they could finally go play outside. Now, here she was with her own dummy for her new ventriloquist act which she had not even planned for. She did not even know how to throw her voice. "This should be interesting," she murmured as she inspected the grinning face.

The dummy's eyes seemed to gleam - but that was just a trick of the light, she scolded herself. She quickly turned him to face the other way. "I'll take you upstairs now, buddy."

* * *

Finally, the parents began to arrive to pick up their kids, and Jillian and Aunt Sophie helped them track down their coats and gloves. Finally, the ocean of screaming first graders was down to a puddle, and Aunt Sophie headed home, but not before taking Jillian aside. "Katie and Amanda told me about the little show you did for them."

Jillian cringed. "They did?" The little snitches...

She braced herself, waiting for a scolding about touching other people's property, but instead Aunt Sophie tweaked her cheek, her green eyes looking approving for once. "You're a good big sister, hon. It makes your mother happy when all her girls get along."

"Well, **_I_** try to," Jillian replied darkly. Not that her aunt cared.

Aunt Sophie shook her head. "The twins are still little, Jillian. _You'll_ be a young woman soon enough." Her bony hand patted Jillian's thin shoulder. "I know it's tough, baby doll, but it helps your parents when you set the example for the girls and not fight back. And you're lucky," she added wistfully. "I've always wanted a brother or sister. My life might have taken a different course otherwise."

Jillian was about to ask her what she meant, but Aunt Sophie kissed her forehead and stepped out into the icy air.

Stevie Shapiro was the last guest to leave since his mother stayed to talk, but it seemed more like business than a social chat, Jillian thought. Mrs. Shapiro seemed to be in her lawyer mode, and though Jillian tried not to listen in, every so often she heard "Alice" and "peanuts" in their conversation. As such, after the Shapiros left, Jillian made sure to help her parents clean up the rec room while Katie and Amanda took Mary-Ellen to the den to watch _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ \- now that the party was over, they seemed to go back to amicable terms with all things festive. Mom popped in her album of Christmas jazz, and within the hour the work was done. Jillian ventured into the kitchen to cut herself a slice from Katie's leftover cake before she headed upstairs to her room. She planned to call a few friends from school about after-Christmas plans - and she promptly stopped in her tracks at the sight of the grinning face leaning against her window frame.

Jillian shuddered. She had actually forgotten she had that thing.

She straightened her shoulders and tried to ignore the staring puppet as she reached around him to grab the small box of lizard food. She then turned to the cute little reptile who looked up at her, almost reproachfully.

"I know it's after six," she sighed. "But your grandma and grandpa needed my help." She tried to keep Petey on a regular schedule, per the vet's orders. Petey had been sluggish the past few weeks with the cold weather and did not have the same appetite, but the docile lizard still knew when he was supposed to be fed.

Petey accepted the offerings of pet-store grub, pecking at the assortment of dried insects, and Jillian stroked his leathery back between bites - and something made the hairs on her neck stand up.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Slappy's glassy, but still intense, eyes, watching her every move - no, no, not _watching_. His painted eyes were just _facing_ her. _Don't be a baby_ , she chided herself. She held up the lizard chow toward the dummy. "Want some?" she joked.

Slappy just stared, his red lips frozen in a secretive, rather slimy smile.

Jillian grimaced and promptly turned him to face the wall. Much better.

When Petey was settled, she went to the book shelf in the corner and pulled out her collection of joke books, now a little dust covered. She then sat at her desk, pulling out her notebook. "You like Weird Al, Slappy?" she asked the dummy, popping the mixtape into her cassette player.

While Weird Al sang about surgeons and rocky-road ice cream, Jillian perused dog-eared pages of knock-knock jokes and riddles. She had memorized a lot of them when she was a birthday clown, and now she jotted down the ones she thought might work well with a ventriloquist act - not that she even had a job lined up, but she might as well prepared something in case the need for one ever arose.

But it was so hard to concentrate.

Her eyes shot to the dummy - yet again. He still had his pug nose against the wall - of course, he did. So, why did she keep expecting him to turn his head toward her with that unsettling smile?

She cleared her throat. "Hey, Slappy, what do snowmen eat for lunch?" she asked the back of his head. "Icebergers."

The dummy did not reply - but for some reason she could imagine him snorting in derision.

She finally got to her feet and grabbed him, heading toward her closet. She sat him in the corner, keeping his face to the wall, and closed the door tight.

This is a bad idea, she told herself, crossing back to her joke books and stuffing them onto the shelf. After all the horrible disasters, she did not need to throw a creepy dummy in the mix. Just the sight of Slappy might make some kids cry.

Jillian took a deep breath and settled onto her bed with a _Garfield_ comic book, trying to ignore her crawling skin. She knew it was babyish, but she had already made up her mind. She would get Jimmy's number from her parents in the morning and tell him to take his puppet back.

* * *

Around ten o'clock, her door opened without a knock, and Jillian looked up from her book to see Katie and Amanda come trotting in, already in their night clothes. Both of them smelled like they had just hopped out of the bath. Thankfully, Mary-Ellen was nowhere in sight.

"Did you like the show today?" Jillian asked, swinging her long legs over the mattress.

They both nodded with identical grins. "Mary-Ellen thought Slappy was very funny," Katie reported, bobbing on her socked heels until her hand-me-down pajamas seemed to take on a life of their own. "She got to meet him. That made her very happy."

Jillian wondered what her sisters would say if they knew Slappy was in the closet at that very moment - but she decided against telling them. She was going to give him back after all, and she did not want him to get accidentally damaged in the twins' excitement. "That's nice," she said at last.

Amanda swished her long nightgown. "Harrison says he's been trying to learn how to throw his voice," she bragged as if it were her own accomplishment. "That would be cool."

Katie stuck her finger in her mouth and silently pretended to puke behind her twin's back, but Jillian gave her a warning look. She stopped with an eyeroll.

"Well, it's harder than it looks," Jillian said at last. "You have to relearn how to use your mouth when you do ventriloquism."

Katie tilted her head, causing her ponytail to jiggle. "What do you mean?"

Jillian pointed to her own mouth. "Since you can't make a B sound without moving your lips, you have to make a D sound, but you move your tongue a different way. ' _Yo ho ho, and a dottle of deer_ ,'" she joked.

"That's weird," Katie said.

"That's cool," Amanda countered.

Jillian smiled. "What did you think of _my_ show?"

"Mary-Ellen said it stunk," Amanda said without missing a beat.

"Well, I'd like to see Mary-Ellen do ventriloquism sometime," she frowned. Granted, Jillian had not bothered to keep her lips still, but the twins were not in a position to criticize either.

Katie just stuck out her tongue. "She said your jokes were stupid."

"Stupid like your face?"

Jillian sat up, her heart pounding. She had not said that!

Both of her sisters immediately scowled. Katie clenched her fist. "Hey!"

"I didn't - " Jillian sputtered, but she was cut off.

"Hey, yourself, horse head," came the return. It sounded like her voice - but there was a raspy sound to it, like she had a bad cough.

Amanda looked hurt. "Jillian, that's mean!"

"I-I'm not - " Jillian stammered, jumping to her feet. She whirled around, turning her back to the girls as she faced the closet.

...No way.

"Why do you have to be a big bully, Jillian?" Katie demanded behind her, stamping her foot. "You gotta apologize!"

Jillian could not tear her eyes from the closed door. She opened her mouth - but no sound came out.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the other speaker. "You know, girls," came the coughy imitation again, "if I had a face like yours, I'd send myself to the glue factory!"

"That's not funny, Jillian!" Amanda shrieked - and Jillian could hear her voice become husky, like she was about to cry.

That jerked her out of her stupefied trance, and she turned into time to see Katie grabbed her twin's hand, giving Jillian a dark look. "We're telling, jerk!" she glowered, pulling Amanda to the door.

"Guys, wait - !" she cried after them, but they shot into the hall, and their little feet pounded down the stairs, leaving her alone in a silent room.

...Or was she alone?

Jillian swallowed - and turned back toward the closet.

It took her five steps on trembling legs to reach it, and for a long moment she stood there, her heart pounding in her chest like a hammer. Finally, woodenly, she forced herself to grab the knob and yank it open.

Slappy stared back at her beneath the dangling hems of her dresses, his wide smile in place. Exactly where she had left him.

...But hadn't she put his face against the wall?

Jillian stepped back, shaking herself.

Impossible.

Ridiculous.

"This can't be happening," she murmured. This was not a Pinocchio story. Puppets needed a puppeteer. Toys did not move on their own in real life. Slappy could not have talked... could he?

No, of course not. It was stupid even to consider it.

...So, did that mean _she_ was saying those horrible things to her little sisters without realizing it?

Of course not. Times ten.

She sucked in a deep breath, keeping her eyes on the leering face.

 _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_ , she heard Jimmy's tenor voice in her mind. Jillian shook herself. This was real life. Slappy could not have been talking. He was just wood and cloth.

Wood and cloth.

Wood and…

That's it!

* * *

She carried the dummy, his midsection draped over her arm, down the carpeted stairs. She could hear the twins tattling to Mom and Dad in the den, but she managed to creep undisturbed into the basement. She crossed the festive rec room and entered her father's workshop, turning on the overhead light - which directly illuminated the table saw.

Jillian stepped closer and laid the dummy on the table, placing his pug nose inches from the circular blade. She carefully, deliberately, lifted the safety cover. She turned to flick on the first switch on the wall before she crossed back to the table. She laid her hand on the second switch.

"Talk to me," she ordered, forcing herself to glare at the dummy instead of fleeing.

Slappy grinned back at her.

"I'll do it," she warned. "I mean it."

Slappy continued to stare. Something which looked that creepy could not have good intentions. "Have it your way." Jillian steeled herself and began to count. "One…"

Did his face darken a little?

"Two…"

Or was that just her eyes playing tricks on her?

"Two and a half… Two and three quarters…"

Slappy did not move.

Jillian jumped away and flipped off the wall switch, breathing hard. "Don't be an idiot," she chided herself, clutching her chest. It took a few moments before her legs stopped feeling like jelly, and she willed herself to look at the dummy, who still smiled back at her.

She exhaled and returned to his side, giving his brown head a pat. "Sorry. I just wanted to make sure. No hard feelings?"

Slappy did not reply but continued to stare at her with that intense gaze - it was just as well that she was going to give him back to Jimmy in the morning. She returned the safety cover and started for the stairs. She reached to turn off the light as she passed the threshold.

"I won't hurt you."

Jillian stopped in her tracks, hand still on the switch.

Slowly - slowly - slowly… she turned...

...And just stared.

Slappy was sitting up beside the covered blade, his blue eyes fixed on hers. And his eternal smile had morphed into a scowl.

* * *

Suddenly, the dummy burst into shrill giggles, slapping his flat stomach. "Oh, where's a mirror when you need one? You should _see_ your face!"

Jillian staggered back, clutching the wall. "This can't be happening…" she moaned.

Slappy chuckled, folding his skinny arms. "Typical human. You see a talking dummy and assume the worse."

Her heart raced so hard it began to hurt, and yet she felt ready to collapse. The room faded in and out of focus as she held onto the doorframe.

Slappy was talking. Slappy was talking.

"This is impossible," she whispered. She wanted to sprint upstairs and scream for her parents, but her feet would not obey her.

"I could say the same thing about you, you know," the dummy returned, shaking his head with a snicker, but she barely heard him.

Slappy was alive. A dummy was alive.

Dolls could be alive.

Through the haze, she saw him lean forward, squinting. "Hey, are you gonna faint? Because I wouldn't want you to fall forward and bust that pretty nose, soft head."

Jillian squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty. Finally, slowly, she opened them again.

The dummy was still there.

"Well, this is getting off to a good start," Slappy said, resting his wooden head against his little hand. "So, are you just going to keep staring at the pinnacle of manliness, or can we move away from all these sharp objects now, Jillian?"

 _What do I do? What do I do?_ Jillian gasped for breath. This was not a dream. This was not even a nightmare. She had a talking dummy in front of her - a real, living doll. Jimmy O'James had given her a living doll - and all the times she saw Slappy at the theater… the party...

 _My hand was INSIDE that thing!_

"Well, Jillian?" Slappy rasped.

Her stomach felt like a rock, but Jillian forced herself to take a deep breath, painfully aware of her burning cheeks. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself off the wall. And gingerly stepped forward - but not too close. For a moment she could only stare - half expecting him to vanish, half expecting him to leap forward and grab her, but the dummy made no movement except to tilt his head, regarding her with his round eyes - his living, staring eyes.

Jillian finally found her voice. "You're really alive?" she breathed. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

"No, I'm actually dead. I just like to pretend to be alive on slow days," he returned, rolling his eyes.

And just like that, a rush of memories flooded her mind - all the performances at the Little Theater she had had to sit through, zeroing her attention on Harrison's GameBoy in an effort to tune out the creepy puppet who threw insults at everyone between scornful laughs. Jillian narrowed her eyes at him, clenching her teeth. The rude little thing had made that poor boy cry!

She moved a little closer - just out of reach - and planted her hands on her hips. "You made fun of my sisters," she frowned, trying to sound sterner than she felt. "What's the big idea?"

He held up his hands, giving what he must have thought was a disarming smile. "Was just a few jokes, sweet eyes," he insisted. "I heard the way they were treating you, and I thought you'd appreciate a helping hand."

"Well, you weren't funny," she retorted. "That was just mean."

Slappy's blue eyes swept up and down as if sizing her up. "If you want to stand on moral soapboxes, let's remember that _you_ were ready to run me through a buzzsaw, soft head."

Jillian fidgeted without meaning to. "I wasn't gonna. Really," she stammered. She swallowed dryly. "Sorry?"

"A brilliant argument," the dummy said dryly. Jillian tensed as he shifted his weight, but it was just to scoot himself forward until his skinny legs dangled over the side of the table. "But I like you, Jillian. You got spunk," he said. "Not a lot of brains, though - but who's perfect?" His grin widened. "Besides me, that is."

Then, without warning Slappy pushed himself off the side, landing squarely on his black shoes - and Jillian shrank back, her heart pounding.

Slappy straightened and calmly pointed at the door behind her. "Can we get away from all these wood-cutting instruments and go sit on the couches?"

Oh. "S-Sure," she said and backed away, keeping her eyes on the dummy as he advanced after her into the rec room.

It took him awhile to walk. Jillian immediately saw he had to lock his knees to move, and he teetered side-to-side on boneless legs until he finally reached the nearest seat, which was the couch.

 _I could outrun him if I need to_ , she told herself - at least, she hoped.

Slappy pulled himself up and crossed his flimsy legs, letting them dangle over the cushion. He laid his stiff hands on his lap and straightened his thin shoulders. In his neatly pressed sports jacket, he looked like a tiny gentleman calmly waiting for a social visit.

Jillian stepped carefully across the room and sat down on the arm of the recliner closest to the stairs. She pinched her arm - just to make sure - but she still seemed to be firmly set in reality. Unless she was crazy. She turned toward the grinning face and tried to keep his gaze. Thousands of questions flooded her mind, each more wild than the last, but she finally settled on one: "Where did you come from?"

"A pine tree, I believe," he replied.

It was such a ridiculously obvious joke that Jillian felt her mouth twitch into a small smile in spite of herself - though maybe that was just hysterics. She gave him another sweeping glance. "Does Mr. O'James know you're alive?"

"Well, he's the one that brought me to life, so I would have to say 'yes'," he quipped. "But, then again, the only thing lower than the temperature outside is his I.Q.," he added, nodding to the snow-covered windows.

"So, he _does_ know," she said slowly, trying to process it. What was the ventriloquist? Dr. Frankenstein? How did anyone bring a doll to life? How was it possible? She furrowed her brow. "And he just _gave_ you to me?"

Slappy sniffed with disdain. "That would imply he _owns_ me," he retorted. "Let's just say, he helped me get a new living arrangement, sweet eyes."

"With me," Jillian said flatly.

His smile returned. "We like you, Jillian - _really_ like you," he added with a wink. "Jimmy is big on helping kids, and I've lived with quite a few over the years, so today is your lucky day, darlin'."

"'Helping kids'?" she repeated, her eyes searching his creepy face. "What? Like the Care Bears?"

"Don't know what that is," Slappy replied, giving her a half-lidded look, "but it sounds stupid." It was weird enough to see lifeless eyes on regular dolls, but looking at those intense wooden orbs, knowing they could actually see her -

She averted her gaze. "Help me with what?"

"With your little problem, of course," he replied with a snort. "Try to keep up, kid."

Oh. "What can you do?" she asked, glancing again at the tiny wooden body.

"The very best I can." He leaned forward, his red grin spreading. "I don't mean 'help' in some kiddie, Harvey Boys way. I'm talking help from a professional in all things supernatural - like yours truly."

 _Supernatural_... Jillian shook herself. "I don't need any help," she said stiffly. Who gave a living dummy to a kid - a girl - and not tell them the truth? What if she had done something embarrassing or… or... _changed_ in front of Slappy? The very thought made her face grow hot. "Mr. O'James shouldn't have just left you here," she said through her teeth.

Slappy frowned - and then he suddenly shrugged before he pushed himself off the couch. "Fine. I'll call Jimmy and tell him you're not interested," he said, heading toward the stairs. "I mean, _he_ thought I could help you with your party problems - but if you'd rather have _las cucarachas_ in your piñata, _mi_ s _eñorita_ , that's your business," he said, tossing his head. "Have fun decorating for the rest of your life."

Jillian grimaced. He had a point. "What _can_ you do?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He paused in his trek and gave her a sweet smile. "Ain't it obvious?" She must have made a face because he shook his head, seeming to laugh at her. "Look, softie, all a ventriloquist act needs is two people - you and me. How hard is that to mess up?" He gripped his checked lapels, his smug smile spreading. "Plus I'm pretty funny if you haven't noticed," he added with a satisfied sniff.

"You said my sister looks like a horse," she said flatly.

"Who doesn't love a good roast?" he asked, his eyes widening with innocence. "I can't help it if low-hanging fruit is so easy to pluck." He folded his arms. "Besides, when a girl is being insulted by someone other than me, a small - _very_ small - part of me wants to defend her honor. But only if she's cute," he added, his smile changing.

Jillian resisted the urge to avert her eyes as her skin began to crawl. "You made a kid cry."

Slappy's jaw twitched. "Yes, Jimmy explained to me that some children don't like to have their bad breath pointed out. I have since learned the error of my ways," he insisted, laying a hand on his chest. "That's why we don't call kids up onstage anymore since Jimmy is the only one old enough to take a joke."

 _I'm sure_. Jillian folded her arms. "So, you were gonna help me - and not tell me you were alive?"

He gave her a half-lidded look. "Well, you tried to run me through a buzzsaw, so fair's fair."

Good point. Jillian fidgeted with the green sleeve of her hoodie.

The dummy shook his head and swept a little ligneous hand toward his skinny torso. "Look, darlin', you see before you a handsome dummy brought to life by his creator's magic," he said. "If something more than natural is going on, wouldn't you want somebody like me helping you? Before any more darling little kids have allergic reactions?"

She bit her lip. It made a little sense. ...But she had no desire to do a ten-minute act with that thing on her lap - with her hand inside a living puppet the entire time... No, no, no. It was too creepy even to consider it. Maybe - _maybe_ \- if he was a girl dummy, it would not be so weird, but... but...

...But she did need help.

Jillian gripped her knees. Once again, she could still hear the screams of the two four-year-olds at Joslyn's party as they clawed at their burning eyes. And she could still see poor Eddie's face as the cockroaches rained down on top of him. And the look in Alice's eyes when she had realized what she had eaten…

...And the twins had alibis each and every time, and no one else was ever in the house with her besides her parents. If something supernatural was going on, maybe she needed something - or someone - just as supernatural to stop it.

She looked again at the dummy and took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, her voice squeaking. "Okay. You can help. Just for a little while. Until this goes away." She could always get Jimmy's phone number and send Slappy back if he was too much of a handful. That thought made her feel better.

The dummy gave a dry chuckle, almost like a cough. "You really are smarter than I took you for, soft head."

She shot him a look and rose to her feet. She planted her hands on her hips. "But if you do this, you can't insult my family anymore," she warned.

"As if they offered much challenge," he returned, dusting his fingertips against his checked jacket.

She tried to look stern, but she settled on studying her thin hands instead. She cleared her throat. "So, uh, what now?"

A sweet smile formed. He held up his arms. "Take me upstairs, roomie?"

She fell back a step, then two, and gripped her hands behind her. "I - I'd rather not."

"And I'd rather not have your parents coming at me with sledgehammer," Slappy replied dryly. "Consider it a necessary evil, kid."

She knew he was right - but that did not make it any easier.

 _Just think of him as a weird teddy bear_ , she told herself. She had always been fine with stuffed animals; it was just the human-looking toys that put her on edge. She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she bent down, slipping her arms around his skinny torso. Slappy's stiff arms wrapped around her thin shoulders. For an uncomfortable moment, she noticed how close his face was to hers -

\- And then she heard the basement door open.

"Jillian, are you down there?" came Mom's no-nonsense voice. "What's this I hear about you saying your sisters look like horses?"

Jillian released the dummy and straightened. She shot her companion a dirty look and stepped toward the stairs. "I'll come back for you later," she said through her teeth, trying to ignore the sick fluttering in her chest.

Slappy just made a sound, much like a snicker.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Advice is appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Jillian stirred as she was drawn out of her slumber by her radio alarm clock. Part of her groaned at herself for forgetting to switch off the alarm, but at least it was on a station playing Christmas songs she liked. Not even bothering to open her eyes, she stretched comfortably as the Beach Boys harmonized to "Little Saint Nick" and rolled onto her stomach. She snuggled her cold nose into her pillow, enjoying the cozy warmth of her bed, and tried to remember the weird dream from which she had been pulled.

She had been wandering through an old house. Everything had looked huge, like a giant's home, but maybe she had just been very small. As she had stepped through the halls, she had been hand-in-hand with a ventriloquist dummy. In the dream she had not even been bothered by his appearance as the blue-eyed puppet turned to her with a nasty smirk. "You know, sweet eyes, you'd be quite the genius if it weren't for your brains."

She had promptly retorted, "You'd be quite the gentleman if it weren't for your manners, Junior."

Now, Jillian found herself chuckling into her pillow at her own joke.

" _Oooooh. Merry Christmas, Santa..._ "

It was then that she heard the turn of her closet's doorknob - as if someone were opening it from the inside. Her eyes shot open.

A raspy voice demanded, "Is that supposed to be music, or is a cat being tortured?"

Jillian sat up like a catapult and was met by a scowling, wooden face.

Oh, yeah...

* * *

By the time Jillian came back from the bathroom, having just changed into a pair of warm pants and a long-sleeved shirt with a lizard print on the front, Slappy had already climbed onto her desk and was looking into the glass tank with curiosity. Jillian hurried forward without thinking, stepping between him and the sleeping lizard. She reached for the packet of reptile food, trying to make it look as casual as possible.

Slappy gave her a smile that did nothing to improve his face. "Need help there?"

"No, Petey likes it when it's me feeding him," she said quickly. Actually, Petey was so laid back he would probably take food from a three-headed monster without a second thought, but Jillian was not sure if she wanted the talking doll who made a little kid cry so close to her pet.

Slappy's mouth twitched once - did his eyes darken a little? - but then he shrugged, giving her a tight smile. "Whatever you wish, sweet eyes."

Jillian quickly turned her attention back to the dozing reptile. "Wakey, wakey," she murmured, shaking off her chill. Petey raised his head with a sleepy look. She reached in and gave him a scratch beneath his leathery chin before she offered him the first morsel. It took Petey a moment to decide if he wanted it, but then he opened his mouth and accepted the dried beetle, gulping it down. She stroked his scaly head and tried to ignore the stiffening hairs on the back of her neck and her carved companion's close presence.

 _Figures I'D get the talking puppet, and not Harrison_ , she thought sardonically. Even now she still kept expecting to wake up from a bizarre dream, but every second she spent in the dummy's presence made it plain that this was real - though she had no clue how it was possible. And, even if she was not hesitant to engage in a conversation with him, she had the feeling that Slappy would not just spill out his life story to a complete stranger.

Not that she had talked much with Slappy since their conversation the night before. Mom had sent her straight to bed for Slappy's insults, and after Jillian had sneaked back into the basement to retrieve him, she had only stayed up long enough to hunt down a travel pillow and a spare blanket. The dummy had only lingered long enough to bid her a "Sweet dreams, sweet eyes," before he had retired to bed down beneath her dress skirts. Once the closet shut behind the puppet, she had jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her head - though it had been almost impossible for her to fall asleep, knowing there was a living object on the other side of the door. She had kept listening for scraping sounds inside, half-expecting him to open the door and come toward her while she slept - even though she had told herself that was silly.

Finally, as Petey began to slow in his eating, she risked a look over her shoulder - and met the wooden eyes. She kept her face as straight as possible. "What?"

He shook his head, his mouth stretched in an unapologetic grin. "Nothing." He gestured toward the box. "What's that?"

She held it up so that he could read the label. "Dried bugs and stuff."

The dummy chuckled. "I admire a woman with a strong stomach."

She gave a small shrug as she pulled out another dead fly. "The trick is not to think about it too much," she admitted as Petey pecked at the bug. "My mom almost wouldn't let me get a lizard because of it. I had to beg my dad to convince her."

"Well, if you ever need help, I'm your man," the dummy said cheerfully. "I like to do three good deeds over the holidays. It's how I make it up to Santa for the rest of the stuff I do over the year." He tittered at his own joke, and Jillian had to resist the urge to cover her ears at the scraping sound.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied, fully intending to do the exact opposite.

Slappy rested his freckled cheek against his hand, studying her. "It boggles the mind to think you've been four blocks from the theater this entire time, partner," he said companionably. "Surely you haven't lived in this ol' podunk your entire life?"

"Well, no," she answered, wondering what her address had to do with anything. "I was born in Elmville. That's about two hours away," she added, gesturing toward the north.

To her surprise a sudden glitter appeared in his painted eyes. "Elmville, eh?" he grinned, leaning forward so fast his limbs creaked. "One of my old humans used to live there."

Jillian raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Small world.

He nodded, and she could see his eagerness growing. He looked like a little kid in line to meet Santa. "Ever heard of a little place called Maddy's Bakery?" he pressed. "It was over on Adams Street."

However, she had to shake her head. "I only lived there when I was really little," she replied apologetically. "We moved before the twins were born. Besides, my mom doesn't believe in bakeries," she added. "She says they're way too overpriced. With her, it's homemade or nothing."

The gleam had already faded from his blue eyes. Slappy sat back and turned his head away. "Well, the stuff wasn't that good anyway," he grumbled, folding his arms. "Lousy gingerbread."

Despite her unease, Jillian could not help feeling just a little sorry for him. She wished she had more memories of Elmville to share with him, but she barely remembered anything from that long ago. Well, except for one very big thing, but she did not need to get into _that_ right now. "I'm sorry," she said with sincerity, wondering if she could ask Mom or Aunt Sophie for some stories.

"Why?" he growled without looking at her. "You didn't do anything, softie."

And just like that, all sympathy vanished. "You're right. I didn't," she said and promptly returned to Petey, biting back what she really wanted to say to him. What did she expect from a creepy doll who made fat jokes?

 _He won't be here forever_ , she told herself. Once this... whatever it was got solved, he would be going back to Jimmy. She could put up with a living doll for however long it took. The trick would be not to think about it too much.

She offered Petey another worm, but he turned his head away, not interested. She gave him one last pat on the head before she returned the lid. She looked over her shoulder to see Slappy now studying her bookcase, particularly the shelf with her _FoxTrot_ collection. She cleared her throat. "What are we do about my… you know?" she asked.

His gaze flicked toward her, and his red lips formed a smile once again. "The first step in any mystery is to hunt for clues, kiddo."

She nodded. "Sounds good. Where do you want to start?"

"Downstairs, natch," he replied - right before he raised his arms. "Gimme a lift, partner?" he asked with that smile Jillian was not sure she liked.

Jillian tried to hide her distaste. She had only carried him once since he had started talking to her, and it still felt weird. She maneuvered around the desk to get behind him, ready to pick him up from the back so that he would be facing outward.

However, Slappy turned, frowning. "Hold me the right way, softie," he snapped. "I'm a person, not a toy."

Right. She took a deep breath and hoisted him up so that his wooden arm draped over her shoulder. His face was inches from hers now - and it made her skin crawl.

"You'll get used to it, soft head," he tittered, reaching up to pat her head.

 _Like a toothache, blockhead_ , she thought, shoving his hand away.

* * *

Jillian stepped into the draft of the hallway, dummy in tow. Though she could hear the hum of the radiator breathing warmth into the house, a palpable chill fought against the artificial heat. Jillian was glad that even in her discomfort in holding a talking doll she had remembered to step her into her slippers (green, of course, with lizards on the toes).

As she headed down the stairs, the smell of coffee and cinnamon buns wafted up to her. Under ordinary circumstances, the sweet scent would have made her mouth water, but holding a little wooden body so close to her did not lend much to an appetite. The T.V. garbled in the den - no doubt the twins were allowed to watch cartoons while they ate breakfast. Her parents' voice drifted from the dining room. She could not make out what they were saying, but halfway down the stairwell she was able to hear "court date."

She swallowed and continued down. Her movements caused Slappy to jostle in her arms, and his head fell against hers. She promptly pushed him the other way, only for him to snicker softly.

At last she entered the festive, but empty, kitchen. "This is it, I guess," she said, sweeping her free hand toward the green wreaths on the windows, the snowflake dish towels, the kitchen table with its candy-cane covering, and Dad's quirky M&M Christmas lights.

Slappy did not move right away. She saw his eyes flick toward the occupied dining room, and then, obviously satisfied that they would not be disturbed, he shifted himself in her arms to look around. "So, what happened?" he rasped softly.

Jillian shuffled quietly over the cold tiles to the counter, wanting very much to put him down beside the tray of cinnamon buns, but Slappy made no move to climb out of her arms even after she shifted him closer. She supposed he wanted to keep at her eye level to investigate, and she resigned herself to her discomfort. "The day of the first party, Mom took the girls to their friend's house," she told him, trying to sound professional. "I was the only one home. I filled up the cream pie, went to change into my costume, and then I headed over to the Henlys' house on foot and met Harrison there. Nobody was here with me."

"And where did you put the pie?" he asked.

"Here on the counter," she replied, gesturing to the exact spot beside the sink. "Anybody could have gotten to it, but who would want to mess with it?"

"Tick anyone off recently?" he snickered. He then asked to see the pantry where they had kept the nuts that ended up in the cupcakes and then to see the hall closet where they had kept the piñata. "Your sisters could have pushed a chair over and reached it - or any of the party guests," he mused, studying the lowest wooden shelf. He kept his hoarse voice low though Jillian doubted the twins could hear him over the blaring T.V. in the next room. "Even I could reach it."

Jillian exhaled. "But my sisters weren't home until after the party started," she returned. "I saw them go down into the basement, and they did not come up again until after the piñata. And why would anyone want to ruin Eddie's party?"

He gave her a half-lidded look. "If you knew, I wouldn't be here." He rubbed his painted chin. "And these things only happen when you have a party, right?"

She nodded bitterly. "Yeah, it's like the Phantom of the Opera - or Phantom of the Zinman House," she added dryly.

He gave a raspy chuckle. "Phantoms are a lot easier to deal with than they would have you believe - trust me, kid."

Jillian decided she did not want to know if he was joking or not.

Slappy shifted in her arms until his pug nose was inches from hers. "The solution is obvious then, my friend," he declared.

She leaned away and waited for him to continue, but he just smiled at her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and forced herself to sound polite. "What do we do, Slappy?"

"Get another party gig and set up a trap!" he said triumphantly. He jabbed his free thumb toward his chest, looking very pleased with himself. "I'm the only prop you need, soft head, and anything that touches me is gonna regret it, I can tell you that!"

Made sense. "It could work," she said slowly as she shut the closet door as quietly as she could. "Just one problem. Where am I going to get another job right now?"

Slappy's smile changed. "I'm sure a cute girl like you can get one easily."

Jillian looked away. She opened her mouth to tell him not to say weird stuff like that, but her eyes fell upon the frosted vertical windows beside the front door, and she stopped. Through the mantel of flurries, she spotted a familiar bulk stomping his way up the snow-covered walk.

* * *

She threw open the door just as Harrison reached for the bell. The boy jabbed a huge thumb over his shoulder. "Hey, tell your mom I'll shovel the walk for ten bucks," he chirped in greeting as he stepped over the threshold, tracking in some of the icy blanket that smothered the porch.

"And take my allowance money from me?" she pretended to frown as she shut the door on the blast of cold air. "Some friend you are."

He chuckled, pulling off his snow-covered coat. She saw him glance toward the noisy den - no doubt hoping a certain seven-year-old had not heard him come in over her cartoon show - and he froze when his dark eyes fell upon the staircase. "Whoa! What's he doing here?" he gaped at the dummy grinning back at him.

Jillian tried to look nonchalant. "Jimmy O'James gav - uh, said I could have him," she explained with a small shrug.

"Just like that?" he whistled, his dark eyes still bulged.

"Tis the season," she replied - and her heart jumped into her throat as Harrison started for Slappy. She sprung forward and grabbed his thick wrist just as he reached for the dummy. "I wouldn't touch him," she warned - and, at his look, she promptly added, lamely, "Uh, you haven't been properly introduced."

Harrison chuckled. "Slappy, I'm Harrison. Nice to meet ya." He took Slappy's tiny hand into his huge one and gave it a gentle shake before he squinted at the painted face. "Wow, he doesn't look so old when you're sitting down in the audience," he commented, tilting the wooden head back to inspect it.

Jillian thought she saw the tiny jaw twitch. She quickly maneuvered around her large friend, yanking the dummy's arm free. "Yes, he's very old," she said sternly, pulling the little body into her arms. "He might get damaged."

Harrison nodded knowingly. "I can understand that," he said, making Jillian glad her best friend was so easygoing. A gleam suddenly appeared in his dark eyes. "This is great timing, Jillian," he beamed, looking like he had just won a truckload of free video games. "You'll never guess what I got for Hanukkah last night."

Jillian shifted Slappy onto her hip. "Socks?" she offered innocently.

"Besides that," he laughed. He sat down on the steps. "Uncle Zach came by last night. He said he was going through his attic and found something I might like. It was a huge box," he said, gesturing to indicate a shape about the size of a suitcase. "Guess what was inside it."

Jillian smiled. "Socks?"

"Ha-ha," he said dryly and then blurted out, "It was a ventriloquist dummy!"

Jillian blinked. For a moment she wondered if she heard him right. "That's… convenient," she said at last.

Harrison nodded happily. "I named him Maxie. You should see him. He has these huge buckteeth, like a squirrel."

"That's quite a coincidence," she murmured, glancing down at the puppet in her arms. What were the odds? "Where did he get it?"

"He had him forever," Harrison replied, motioning with his huge arms. "He used to put on shows when he was our age, can you believe it?"

"So, it's hereditary," Jillian could not resist saying.

"Like you can talk now," Harrison retorted with mock offense, nodding at Slappy. His dark eyes were gleaming. "It'll be awesome, Jillian. We can put on a double-dummy act. We'll be even better than Jimmy O'James. I mean, two dummies have got to be funnier than one."

Jillian was sure she heard a snort, but it was faint.

"That's nice," she said, looking at back at her friend.

Harrison leaned forward. "So," he said slowly, "maybe we could put something together for my cousin's birthday party, huh?"

That brought Jillian back to earth. She swallowed. Suddenly, the house felt a lot colder.

Harrison furrowed his brow. "Hey, don't look like that," he said empathetically, touching her arm. "It's gonna be alright, Jill. We'll keep the dummies at my house, and my aunt is handling all the food."

Jillian shook herself. "It's not that," she said quickly, pushing down her butterflies. For the first time her investigation with a talking dummy into a maybe supernatural crisis did not feel so surreal. This was her reality now. She knew she couldn't say no - not if she wanted to get to the bottom of whatever hurt Alice, Eddie, and those two four-year-olds - but she knew there was no backing out once she said yes.

But she had to say yes. She sucked in a deep breath, steeling her nerves. "When's the party?" she asked - even as her voice cracked.

Harrison's grin returned. "Just five days away!"

"The Twenty-fifth?" Should she feel disappointed or relieved by that?

Harrison raised an eyebrow in confusion - and then he grimaced. "Oh, yeah, Christmas," he muttered, furrowing his brow. After a moment he shrugged. "Well, you can ask your folks if you can leave for an hour or two, right?" he offered. "It won't ruin the holiday."

"I can try," she said, risking a glance at Slappy.

The dummy stared back at her, blank as ever, but his still face seemed to be a little smug, as if to say, _See? Didn't I tell you, soft head?_

Jillian swallowed again. It took her a moment to steady herself, and she formed a smile - for both Harrison and the puppet. "It's exactly what we needed," she said at last, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. "I'm sure they'll say yes."

* * *

Harrison stayed for half an hour, and they spent the time in her room pouring over her old joke books on her bed while Slappy watched them blankly from her desk.

"Benny's starting to tell knock-knock jokes, so I know he's gonna love this," Harrison informed her between bites of the cinnamon buns she brought him. "If we can find any about trains, dinosaurs, or monkeys, all the better." Twice Harrison tried to see if he could say a joke without moving his lips, and - of course - he reached for Slappy to practice.

"I really rather you didn't," Jillian said, trying to conceal her impatience as she grabbed her friend's arm. Even if Slappy was just a creepy toy, no one deserved to be picked up and forced to sit on someone's lap without their consent. Especially if they could not speak up and defend themselves because they had to pretend to be a lifeless puppet.

"I'll be careful," Harrison protested, not unkindly.

Jillian wished she could tell him the truth, but she knew it was not her place to tell Slappy's secret - not just yet. "I know, but he's very old," she explained.

"And they say that us only children hoard our toys," Harrion laughed, shaking his head.

Just as Jillian began to consider stuffing Slappy into the closet to let him have some privacy, but Harrison solved the problem for her. "Hey, I gotta head home," he announced, checking his watch.

Jillian followed him out to walk him to the front door, and they both stepped into the hall just as Amanda came out of the bathroom. Her little face lit up at the sight of the older boy. "Hi-i-i, Harrison," she greeted, giving him a huge smile.

"Hi, Mandy," he said and quickly took one step down the stairs. "Can't stay. Gotta go."

"See you later," Amanda chirped with an unperturbed wave.

Jillian coughed into her hand to conceal her snicker as her little sister headed back down the hall, and she saw Amanda's blue eyes dart momentarily toward Jillian's open door - right before she did a double take. Without a word, she zoomed back into her own bedroom, slamming the door shut.

"What's that about?" Harrison asked.

"No idea," Jillian replied - even though she had a feeling she knew. She turned back to her friend, fluttering her eyelashes. "By-y-ye, Harrison," she sang, imitating Amanda's youthful voice.

Harrison shot her a dirty look. "Knock it off, Jillian," he retorted before he headed down the stairs.

* * *

"About time he left," the dummy growled, sliding to the edge of her desk as Jillian re-entered her room. His ugly face was now a mask of impatience.

"Sorry about that," she said quickly as she shut the door. "I didn't know he was coming over."

She saw him cast a scornful glare toward the pile of joke books still on her bed. "And that moron really thinks he can top my act with a few knock-knock jokes?" he demanded with disdain. "Where did you even _find_ that thing, Jillian?"

Jillian shot him a dirty look. "That's my best friend you're talking about, pal." She planted her hands on her hips. "Harrison's a good guy. You might like him if you give him a chance."

"I could give him something else," Slappy sneered, flexing his little hand into a fist before he folded his skinny arms. "Luckily for this act, soft head, you're both working with the master of comedy himself. The stuff I throw up is funnier than what the big guy can write."

Oh, great. She crossed her arms and made herself count to ten before answering. She reminded her growing annoyance that Slappy had, indeed, been forced to stay motionless while Harrison was in the room, and that would make even a sweet-tempered person cranky. She had her own memories of being made to sit quietly when she was little, and she had hated it then. "We should probably keep it low key," she said finally, trying to keep her voice diplomatic even as an image of little Benny Cohen getting chewed out by a screaming dummy flashed across her mind. "If we're setting a trap, we shouldn't draw attention to ourselves."

Slappy snorted. "Go big or go home, softie," he replied. "Comedy is easy - if you have any brains." He tilted his head. "What does the birthday boy look like?"

Jillian frowned. "Why?"

"So that I can pick out a bowtie for him," Slappy replied dryly, shaking his head. "For comedy, egghead."

Jillian shook a finger at him, stretching to her full towering height. "You're not insulting Harrison's baby cousin," she ordered. "Didn't Jimmy talk to you about that?" Even if this was all a trap, there was no way she was going to let him sling his bad jokes at innocent little kids.

The dummy just snickered. "Would you like me to insult Harrison instead?" he shot back. "I already have half an act I worked up just on that guy's breath."

Jillian kept her face stern. "I don't see why we need to insult anyone."

"And that's why _I'm_ the professional, and you're the amateur," he mocked, but at her glare, he rolled his eyes. "Look, clown girl, comedy is just tragedy plus timing. Any comedian worth their salt will tell you that if somebody ain't upset, you're doing it wrong. Here," he prompted, "tell me a joke."

She did not speak.

His face darkened. "C'mon, c'mon," he snapped. "This is a learning opportunity for you."

Jillian exhaled. "Why don't turkeys eat on Christmas?" she asked after a moment.

Slappy raised a painted eyebrow in response.

"Because they're always stuffed," she finished.

Slappy snorted, crinkling his pug nose. "See? Insulting."

"How?" she returned coolly.

"It insulted my intelligence!" he cried, throwing back his head in a cackle.

Jillian rolled her eyes, rubbing her ear. "Says the guy with the empty head."

Slappy just gave another scornful laugh, leaning against the window frame. "Haven't heard _that_ one before," he sneered. "Your taste in jokes is like your taste in music - lousy!"

She shook her head. What had she gotten herself into? Whatever it was, it would not involve poor Benny having a bad party. "You know, Slappy, you'd be quite the gentleman if it wasn't for your manners," she said dryly, holding her arms akimbo.

She expected him to throw back another insult, but instead he sat up sharply, glaring at her. "What did you say to me, kid?" he demanded, his hoarse voice softening.

Jillian had the sudden urge to take a step back, but she held her ground. "What? You can dish it out, but can't take it yourself?" she retorted, hoping she sounded tougher than she felt.

The dummy's ugly face darkened, and for a moment a flash of her previous plan to phone Jimmy crossed Jillian's mind. Slappy opened his mouth -

\- And there came a quick knock on her bedroom door, causing them both to jump.

The dummy collapsed, and Jillian whirled around just as her mother stepped in. Mom was in her warmest pair of pants and a thick red sweater, as if ready to go somewhere. "Hey, sweetie, are you on the phone - " Mom's smile faded as she stopped stock still, her blue eyes widening. "What's that doing here?" she gaped, much like Harrison had done.

Jillian gave her a quick smile, even as her heart pounded. "Jimmy O'James gave him to me. He's awful nice."

Mom strode across the carpet, closing the distance between her and the dummy on the small desk. She stared at Slappy as if he had suddenly turned into a two-headed alien. "I thought you don't like dolls," she said without tearing her eyes away.

"He's a puppet. I like puppets," Jillian replied, siding up to her. It was a half truth, but still the truth. "Harrison has one too," she continued, trying to keep her voice light. "He thinks we should put on our own act for his cousin's party. We were writing our script today."

She waited for her to ask when the party was, but Mom did not seem to hear her. She leaned over Slappy, furrowing her dark brow. The dummy smiled back at her, somehow looking more innocent than usual. For a moment Jillian wondered if this was how Jimmy had felt when he had spotted her eavesdropping in the basement. "Wooden dolls cost a lot of money," Mom finally said, pursing her lips. "I don't think I like some young man giving you expensive gifts."

Jillian blanched. "Mom! It's not like _that_!" she cried. Why would her mother even _think_ that? She grabbed Slappy's arm and pointed at the chipped bottom lip and scratches on his paint. "Mr. O'James said he had a new dummy, and he wanted Slappy to have a good home instead of going in the trash."

She was about to tell her about Benny's party, but her mother's eyes darted back to Slappy, and Jillian saw her make a face, much like the one she usually reserved for Petey. However, it was gone in the next moment, and she gave Jillian a smile. "You should show it to Aunt Sophie," she offered, patting Jillian's dark head. "She has all those dolls; I wouldn't be surprised if she could pinpoint the exact factory it came from."

Jillian decided it was time to change the subject. "Did you need something, Mom?"

She saw remembrance flicker in her mother's blue eyes. "I'm going to run some errands for a few hours, sweetie," she said. "Can you watch the girls?"

"Do I get paid?" she asked.

"In hugs," Mom replied with a teasing smile.

"How about ten bucks?" Jillian replied.

"Five and I'll bring you home a Coke," her mother countered.

"Deal."

Mom feathered Jillian's bangs. "Aunt Sophie is next door if you need her. Make sure the girls aren't in front of the T.V. the entire time," she instructed. "Send them outside to play. Tell them to make a snowman to welcome Santa if they make a fuss."

"So, lie to them," Jillian nodded.

Mom narrowed her eyes.

Jillian held up her hands. "Okay, got it."

Mom gave her a light swat on the head and started for the door - and then stopped, snapping her fingers. "Oh, and another thing, honey," she said, turning. "Could you follow my recipe and make a batch of snickerdoodles while I'm gone?"

Jillian nodded, feeling her smile widen. "Sure." Ever since she had turned twelve back in September, Mom had begun to trust her to use the oven unsupervised, which made her feel grown-up.

However, her heart promptly twisted as her mother continued, "They're for Mrs. Shapiro. As a thank-you for all the help she's been giving us. Your sisters are making her a nice card too," she added.

Jillian looked down at her green slippers, swallowing. "Sure, Mom." Of course there would be a catch.

Mom had barely left when the door swung open again - and this time the twins came spilling in.

Katie lugged Mary-Ellen over her shoulder. Jillian saw that they had dressed the doll up in one of the fancier green gowns Aunt Sophie had given them the day before, and they seemed to have taken great pains to brush down the mess of mop-yarn hair, but now it looked frumpier than normal. Both girls stopped halfway across her floor, staring in wonder at the dummy.

"You _do_ have Slappy!" Katie gaped, turning Mary-Ellen as if to let her see.

"Told ya!" Amanda insisted.

"Sure, c'mon in, guys," Jillian said dryly, stepping in front of her sisters. She had been wondering when they would show up. "Don't mess with him," she warned. "I might give him back to Mr. O'James later this week." It was the truth.

The girls started forward as if they had not heard her, maneuvering around her to gawk at the puppet. "Why would he give him to you?" Katie demanded as she set Mary-Ellen on the desk. "It was _our_ birthday."

"But _his_ dummy," Jillian replied, grabbing her sister's shoulder to pull her back. "Don't be bratty."

Katie narrowed her eyes in defiance. "But you hate puppets," she pointed out. "You said you're always bored to death when you go to Slappy's shows."

"I never said _that_ ," she retorted, trying not to look at the dummy. _In those exact words_ , she added silently.

Amanda turned, her blue eyes wide. "Can we play with him?" she pleaded, clasping her hands together. "Please? Please? Please?"

Jillian shook her head. "No way," she said. "I don't want him to get damaged. He's going back to Mr. O'James soon."

"But Mary-Ellen _really_ wants to," Katie whined, bouncing so hard the metal pieces on her overall straps clanked. "She waited _forever_ just to meet him."

"Well, in that case - no." Jillian folded her arms. Even if he had not been a creepy living dummy, she would not subject Slappy to playtime with that monstrosity. "Why would he want to play with Mary-Ellen after 'she' made me look yucky for the party yesterday?" she reminded them. _And fed me hot sauce_.

Amanda had the grace to look contrite, but Katie sneered, unrepentant. "You were mean to Mary-Ellen, so there."

Jillian narrowed her eyes. She pointed to her door. "Out of my room," she ordered. "Now. Or I'll tell Mom that you already sneaked peeks at your Christmas presents," she added as they opened their mouths to protest.

Katie stuck out her tongue and grabbed Mary-Ellen, and Amanda trailed behind her to the door. "You'll be sorry," Katie said over her shoulder as they headed back toward their room.

"Mary-Ellen's not gonna forget this," Amanda added.

"I'm shaking," Jillian replied, shutting the door behind them. Little brats.

She turned in time to see Slappy raise his head. "So, it's hereditary," he cracked.

"Shut up."

* * *

"Your folks really get into the spirit of the holidays, don't they?" Slappy commented dryly, eyeing the string of anthropomorphic M&M figures above their heads as Jillian carried into the kitchen.

"You should see the den," Jillian replied as she propped the dummy onto the counter beside the coffeemaker before she set about gathering the ingredients for her cookies. As much as she disliked carrying him around, she did not want the twins to try to sneak into her room and grab him while she was gone. She turned on the oven to preheat it when she stopped, remembering her manners. "Oh, do you celebrate Christmas? I mean, it's okay if you don't. Harrison celebrates Hanukkah."

Slappy gave a quiet chuckle. "Ah, yes. I once stayed with a family during the ol' Festival of Frights."

"That's Festival of _Lights_ ," Jillian corrected as she pulled out the mixing bowl from the bottom cabinet.

"Not the way we celebrated it," Slappy smirked. "But I do enjoy some aspects of Christmas, few as they are," he continued cheerfully. "Presents. Peppermint. Eggnog." He gave her a wink. "Mistletoe."

Jillian immediately stiffened. "Don't joke like that," she glared, pointing the wooden mixing spoon at him. "That's just gross."

"Who's joking?" he threw back with a titter. "Lotsa girls go wild for the small, dark and handsome type, sweet eyes."

"Maybe on Pluto," she retorted, yanking open the refrigerator door. _Don't react, Jillian. He's just trying to get a rise out of you_ , she told herself. She tried to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck and pulled out the egg cartoon and butter container with what she hoped was a disinterested expression.

Slappy laughed again and swung his legs over the edge, watching her with interest. "Need any help there?" he offered.

 _You stay right where you are, pal_. "Nah, I got it." She closed the door with her foot before she carried her cargo to the small kitchen table. "You're the guest," she added as she laid out the items on the festive tablecloth.

"C'mon, it'll give me a chance to do my good deed," he pressed. "Tis the season, snowflake."

"It's Mom's special recipe," she said as casually as she could. "She's very particular about it. It's better if I just do it." What she did not say was that she would rather avoid picking Mr. Small, Dark, and Handsome up again unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Well, if you change your mind," he said - with some difficulty it seemed - and turned his head away. Did he look annoyed?

She shook the thought off and collected the Christmas cookie cutters, neatly stacking the tree, candy cane, snowman, and star in a row for later. She softened the butter in silence, trying not to look at her companion.

Just as she dumped the yellow mush into the mixing bowl with the sugar, Slappy asked, "Who is Mrs. Shapiro anyway?"

Jillian cracked an egg into the bowl, a little harder than she intended. "My parents' lawyer."

"Ah." He was quiet for a moment. "What do they think happened with the cupcakes?"

"I don't know," she said bitterly, cracking the second egg. "They haven't talked to me about it since the day of the party. I told them I didn't do it."

"And I bet you were very convincing," Slappy snorted.

"Yeah." She wiped her hands on a snowflake dish towel. "You know, the girls shouldn't be upstairs when I'm down here," she said quickly. "I'm gonna go get them." She glanced at him. "Make sure nothing gets into my cookies?"

His mouth twitched a little. "You bet, kid."

* * *

Jillian could hear the sound effects of the Christmas special, _Holly Jolly Holiday_ , as she strode down the hall, yet as she approached the twins' closed door, her ears detected the unmistakable squeak of Katie's voice, deep in conversation with Amanda. Jillian raised her hand to knock when she heard her own name.

"But we can't sneak into Jillian's room and take him," Katie protested. "What if she tells Mom?"

"Can't we wait 'til later to get Slappy?" Amanda whined back.

Jillian narrowed her eyes, her raised hand clenching into a tight fist. Those little brats...

"Why did Jimmy O'James give him to Jillian anyway?" Katie continued. "She doesn't even like Slappy. She says he's boring."

"Maybe she'll share him if we're nice to her," Amanda offered. A brief pause. "It was just a suggestion."

The twins were quiet for a moment - or maybe they were speaking so softly now that the television drowned them out. Jillian pressed her ear against the door and was rewarded by Amanda's voice.

"Slappy wasn't very nice to you," Amanda said.

"He's not nice to anyone," Katie squeaked back. "Why do you want to be friends with him?"

They were quiet again.

"Fine, fine. But can we do it later?" Katie pleaded.

"We'll get him. Don't worry," Amanda promised.

 _Fat chance_. Jillian pushed open the door, swinging it wide. "Hey, what are you girls doing?" she asked, folding her arms.

Both girls had been sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bag of cheese curls between them, and they promptly jumped to their feet, causing the orange puffs to spray across the floor, some spilling right onto Mary-Ellen's lap.

"You didn't knock!" Amanda cried as she scrambled to shovel up the spilled snacks.

Jillian narrowed her eyes. "Why? What are you doing?" she asked again, leaning against the cool doorframe.

Katie stuck out her tongue. "Nunya," she retorted as she continued to stuff the cheese curls back into the bag.

Jillian waited for both of them to finish before she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. "Go outside and build a snowman," she ordered. "Mom said."

Katie just folded her arms, which had her sleeves pushed all the way up to her elbows. "We don't wanna."

"Mom said," Jillian repeated, staring her down. "Do you want Santa to skip the house and not give you any presents?"

That got their attention. Amanda looked down at her doll. "We'll be back soon," she promised.

"Right after we build the stupid snowman," Katie chimed in.

Both girls started to push their way past their older sister when Jillian spotted something and grabbed Katie's shoulder. "What happened to your arm?" she gaped, her annoyance now forgotten as she stared at the skinny limb which had a very large purple bruise close to the wrist.

Katie pulled her sleeve down, an uncomfortable look on her face. "I climbed up the wrong side of the banister and fell," she replied, looking down. "Don't tell Mom."

"Well, you should be more careful," Jillian warned as both girls headed into the hall. Even Amanda picked up the pace as they both hurried toward the stairs.

Neither one seemed to notice they had left the television on. Jillian rolled her eyes and crossed the room to hit the power button. The cheery image of Susie Snowflake was immediately engulfed in black, and the television went silent. Jillian was about to leave when she looked down at Mary-Ellen. Her heart-shaped mouth and blood-red cheeks were covered in orange dust. Her new green dress was now wrinkled and covered in cheesy streaks. For such a beloved toy, the girls got messy whenever they pretended to feed her. Jillian exhaled and grabbed a plastic arm. "C'mon, you."

She carried the stiff body, still bent in a sitting position, down the hall into the bathroom. She propped the doll onto the counter before she wetted a corner of a clean washcloth and applied it the plastic face. She turned Mary-Ellen sideways so that she did not have to look at her disturbing grin or blank violet eyes, focusing instead on scrubbing the dusty patches. "You're more trouble than you're worth, you know," she told the doll, grabbing the frizzy head to steady her. "No wonder Dad got you so cheap at that yard sale."

Mary-Ellen continued to stare at the towel rack.

Jillian used the dry end of the rag to wipe away the droplets that clung to the round cheeks. The doll really was ugly, she thought. It was mind boggling to think the twins could love her so fiercely. Even though Jillian had not liked Barbies as a little kid, she could at least see why her girl friends collected the toys and accessories, but the twins treated Mary-Ellen like she was part of the family. "Sometimes I think I ought to throw you in a trash can - but I won't," she said, frowning. "I could. Believe me. But you're just a dumb doll," she exhaled through her teeth. "You can't help it how the girls treat you."

Mary-Ellen was silent. Lifeless as ever.

Soon enough Jillian was finished, and she heaved the huge doll into the hall, intending to dump her on one of the twin's beds, when there came the sounds of little booted feet coming up the stairs. "Maybe we should ask Mary-Ellen if she wants to make snow angels," she heard Amanda suggest with complete sincerity. "Aunt Sophie gave her that new coat at the party. She might want to try it out."

"If she wants," Katie replied nonchalantly. "She doesn't like the cold."

"But she likes being outside," Amanda countered. "Now that school's out for us, she doesn't have to be in the room all the time."

Jillian waited with one hand on her hip until the identical heads popped into view, both decked in wool hats and earmuffs. The girls stopped in their tracks as she held up Mary-Ellen. "You need to take better care of your toys," she told them.

Both girls started forward. Amanda yanked the doll out of her sister's hand, turning her around to inspect her. "Did she hurt you?" she asked in a rush.

"Don't tempt me," Jillian replied, stepping around them.

"I'll get your coat," Katie promised the doll, not seeming to hear her sister, and broke into a run down the drafty hall.

Jillian shook her head and headed down the stairs, gripping the cool banister. Seven-year-olds.

She heard Amanda start down after her. Jillian turned her head, ready to tell her sister not to step on her heels -

\- and then she felt small hands connect with her back, shoving her forward.

Jillian let out a yelp, and the world spun around her - until finally she connected with the hard wooden floor. Pain shot like lightning down her whole body, almost knocking her senseless.

"Jillian, are you okay?!" she heard Amanda shriek somewhere above her.

"What happened?!" came Katie's squeaky cry and the sound of little feet rushing down the steps.

"Jillian, fell!" Amanda wailed with despair.

Katie reached Jillian first and grabbed her elbow, helping her to her feet. Through the daze, Jillian raised her head, biting down on her cry of pain, and stared at Amanda. "You pushed me!" she gaped, more horrified than angry.

Amanda shook her head. "I didn't! Honest!" Tear drops were forming in her blue eyes as she hurried down the steps.

"She wouldn't do that!" Katie insisted. "You're crazy!"

The stun of landing was wearing off, and Jillian frowned, remembering the hard shove on her back. "Well, then who - ?" she started to say, but the words died in her throat.

Her gaze fell upon the violet-colored stare of Mary-Ellen.

Katie and Amanda exchanged glances. "We'll build our snowman now," Katie said, and both girls made a break for the front door.

* * *

" _It's the most wonderful time_ \- "

" _Hark! The herald_ \- "

" _I still want a hula hoop_ \- "

Slappy was adjusting the dial on the softly playing radio when Jillian came limping in; his ugly face was now contorted in a look of disgust. "How can you humans listen to this yuletide garbage?" he demanded nastily. "It's so joyful and triumphant, I could puke." His expression changed when his eyes fell upon her. "What happened to you?"

She gritted her teeth, pulling back her sleeve to inspect her bruised arm. "One of them shoved me down the stairs."

Slappy's dark eyebrows shot up high. "Did not see that coming." He inched to the edge. "Are you hurt, kiddo?"

"I'll live," she said, sucking air through her teeth. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering against a chill that had nothing to do with the weather outside.

Something that resembled concern appeared on his wooden features. "Are you going to tell your folks?"

"Why bother?" she said bitterly. "The girls nearly blinded me yesterday, and Mom did nothing." She told him about the hot sauce and the shaving-cream balloon. "They said it was Mary-Ellen's idea," she finished, looking at him for his reaction - hoping he caught the hint.

"'Mary-Ellen' isn't very imaginative then," Slappy cracked, using his little fingers to make air quotes. That did not make her feel better. The dummy folded his arms. "Frankly, kid, you need to stand up for yourself. A big girl like you should be bossing _them_ around."

Jillian got to her feet and made her way to the window. She saw that the girls had migrated to the safety of the backyard and were busy putting together their snow Santa. Mary-Ellen sat on the ground near them in her new coat, gazing at them with her frozen smile. "I'd like to do something," she said at last, turning to face him, "but my folks would call me a bully."

"What do they know?" Slappy shot back. He gestured to himself. "Now, take me for example. Here you see the epitome of beauty and brains, but I have to play dead all day because bad things will happen if too many of you animals know I'm alive."

Jillian looked him over. She had suspected he had not liked playing dead around Harrison, but she had not considered it in that light. "Bet that really sucks," she said with empathy.

"You don't even know the half of it, darling girl," he sniffed. "But I don't take it lying down. I find ways to get back at them - make sure they don't mess with me again. I once lived with a girl named Amy Kramer. Kid suspected that I was alive - she outright told her parents I was, but did she offer me a cup of coffee? Nope!" Anger seeped into his raspy voice. "She expected me to sit on her lap like a lifeless toy while she yanked on my string with her tuna-smelling fingers. She wouldn't even do the tiniest favor I asked of her. So, I did an innocent prank to show her that I wasn't her property, that I was a person too. And what did she do? She threw me down a sewer drain and acted like _I_ was the villain. How do you like that?" he demanded.

Jillian furrowed her brow. "She sounds awful."

"And she wasn't even the worse." He began to count on his tiny finger. "One brother and sister tied my arms and legs together and threw me down a well. A pawnshop owner's kid shoved a sandwich inside my head. Another family tried to throw me into their barbecue pit and use me for their luau. Yet another family tried to get me on video tape so that they could send me to some specialist to turn me into an experiment. Shall I continue?"

Jillian shook her head. "That's terrible, Slappy."

"Yeah, and if any of them had a buzzsaw in their basement, who knows where I might be?"

Jillian fidgeted with her sleeve. "I _am_ sorry about that," she said softly.

"I'm sure," he replied dryly. "My point is, softie, you gotta do what it takes to protect yourself. Especially when you're all you got."

"Makes sense," she conceded, giving him a sweeping glance. What a horrible life he must have had. "I _try_ to get back at the girls," she sighed as she stepped back to her unfinished cookie dough. "Once I got up in the middle of the night and tied their shoelaces together. In the morning Mom just grounded me and said I was acting childish."

"I should say so," Slappy snorted. "That prank is so juvenile."

"Well, it was a _start_ ," Jillian retorted, turning back to him. "I'd do a lot worse to them if I could ever find the perfect revenge."

A gleam appeared in Slappy's eyes. "We-e-e-ll, I know a thing or two about pranks, darlin'," he said. "I could help you come up with something the brats won't forget."

She shook her head and went back to stirring her ingredients. "No, thanks," she said. "My sisters. My problem."

Slappy heaved a shrug. "Whatever floats your ghost, kiddo." He went back to the radio. He flicked the dial again, landing on the rock station Jillian and Harrison had been listening to the day before, but he was not interested in Queen either. "How about 'We will, we will SOCK you'?" he sneered before he finally switched the device off in disgust.

Jillian considered offering to help him find something he liked, but she had a more pressing question. She laid the stirring spoon down. "Hey, Slappy? How would you know if a doll is alive?"

"Hold it up to a table saw," he said without missing a beat.

She winced. "Besides that."

"Oh, _now_ you're squeamish?" he demanded.

"It's just…" She hesitated, trying to put her thoughts into words. "You know Mary-Ellen?"

"Hard to forget a mug like that," Slappy returned. "You think she's alive?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe the girls are just really good at playing Calvin and Hobbes. Or maybe she's alive, and that's why they're always ignoring me. Or maybe I'm just paranoid," she added. "I mean, what are the odds of _two_ living dolls being in the same house?"

"Oh, I don't know," Slappy said, studying his fingertips. "I once wound up in a house with twelve living dummies in the attic."

She stared at him. "You're joking."

"I wish," he said darkly. "But I lived there for a week, and those guys did not blink an eye. When they did move, it was to gang up on me and try to pull me apart." He shuddered. "Talk about a loony bin."

She stepped closer to him. "So, what can I do about Mary-Ellen?" she pressed. "How can I know?"

Slappy opened his mouth - but he promptly shut it when she heard the back door bang open, and the girls came bursting in.

"Jillian!" Katie cried as she came bursting in. "We finished our snowman."

Jillian straightened, trying to keep her composure. "Already?"

"Mary-Ellen wanted to come inside," Amanda said, carefully setting the doll on her feet and begun to take off the tiny drenched coat. "She wants cocoa to warm up."

"Make her some cocoa, Jillian," Katie insisted.

"No way. Chocolate isn't good for dolls," Jillian replied briskly - even as a chill creeped up her back. She scanned the lifeless face in front of her, but the doll remained still.

"What do you know?" Katie sniffed. "Make her some cocoa."

"Make it yourself," she shot back, turning away from them. "You know how."

"Meanie!" her sister squeaked.

" _Give me five bucks if you really want it_ ," came a raspy, but feminine, reply.

"No way!" Amanda squawked.

Jillian stiffened, but she quickly recovered. She glanced at the grinning puppet before she looked over her shoulder. "Well, then you must not really like Mary-Ellen then," she replied, trying her best to imitate Slappy's hoarse impression of her. "Five bucks or no cocoa."

Katie and Amanda exchanged frustrated looks.

"Fine!" Amanda said at last, stamping her foot. "Jerk!" She scooped Mary-Ellen up and headed for the stairs, still in her coat. Katie sprinted ahead of her.

Once the noise faded, Jillian turned to the dummy. "I'm guessing you got a plan?" she asked hopefully.

Slappy raised his head. "We-e-e-ll," he grinned, "if Mary-Ellen wants hot chocolate, we should give her _hot_ chocolate." He nodded toward the cabinets. "I'm thinking Tabasco."

* * *

"That could have gone better," Jillian muttered under her breath as she carried Slappy up the stairs.

"But _I_ had fun," the dummy tittered into her shoulder.

Jillian furrowed her brow. It had not taken long to heat up the chocolate powder and milk inside the microwave, and by that time the girls came grumbling back with a collection of quarters, dimes and nickels, equalling five dollars. Katie had accepted the warm mug with little ceremony and had tapped it against Mary-Ellen's lips - and had immediately handed it to Amanda, who took a huge gulp.

Within moments both girls were speeding next door to tattle to Aunt Sophie.

Of course, her aunt had been furious, even after Jillian had shown her the purple bruises from her fall down the stairs. "So, instead of picking up the phone to tell me what happened, you decided to take matters into your own hands?" she had demanded, her green eyes flashing behind her glasses. "Is that your idea of justice, Jillian?"

"But they could have killed me," Jillian had pointed out.

"We didn't do it!" Katie and Amanda had kept insisting. "It was an accident!" It had not hurt their case that Amanda still had had tears in her eyes from the hot sauce.

Aunt Sophie had sent Jillian upstairs to wait until Mom came home, and she had made a fresh batch of cocoa for the twins. As Jillian had stepped out of the kitchen, she had caught sight of her aunt dumping the snickerdoodle dough into the trash, as if she expected it to be tainted.

It went without saying that she had to give back the five dollars.

Jillian finally reached her room and set Slappy down on his feet, but the dummy did not release her arm right away. He tilted his head, studying her. "You okay there, girly?"

She exhaled, pulling back, and closed the door. "I sabotaged a doll's drink for no reason and got in trouble for it." She clenched her fist before she quietly added, "And if Mary-Ellen isn't alive, then that means my little sister pushed me down the stairs."

Slappy folded his arms. "Then I'd say she got what was coming to her."

"Yeah." She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Then a small smile spread. "Did you see how _red_ her face got?"

Slappy snickered. "You would even say it glowed."

It was a dumb joke, but Jillian found herself snorting into her hands.

"So you _do_ know how to laugh," Slappy said with a smirk.

"So you _do_ know how to tell a joke," she returned, but she gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Slappy."

He winked. "No problem, sweet eyes." He steepled his fingertips, his expression changing. "Although I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it to Jimmy. He doesn't appreciate my… hobbies."

Jillian shrugged. "I don't see why it would matter. You didn't _make_ me put the hot sauce in. I could've said no. Besides," she added, "Amanda pushed me down the stairs. As far as I'm concerned, it was self-defense."

His smile stretched. "I like your definition of self defense, girly girl." He shifted back onto his heels. "Hey, does your aunt have a spare key to her house that she keeps laying around?"

Jillian's mind immediately conjured up the image of the little key in the fake rock covered now in snow - but she was not going to tell him _that_. "Why?" she asked.

His blue eyes glittered. "Well, if you need some 'self defense' with that Aunt Bonebag of yours, we can 'defend' you in a way she'll remember - for how ever long the fossil has left," he giggled.

Jillian frowned. "I'm not gonna do that to her."

"You sure? 'Cause it would be easy to pin it on the girls," he told her. "Just leave a glove or hat at the scene of the crime, and we'll make sure your parents ground them 'til they're fifty!"

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. There's revenge," she said, gesturing, "and then there's just being mean."

He snorted, shaking his wooden head. "Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, I'm very good at leaving surprises for people to find." His smile became tight. "Just ask ol' Amy Kramer."

"Duly noted."

* * *

A/N: If you know which film Jillian's dream comeback comes from (without Googling), you're awesome. ;)

Thanks for reading! Advice is appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

After Mom gave her a stern talking-to about being a good role model and turning the other cheek, she sent Jillian out to shovel both the front walk and the driveway. Amanda, on the other hand, had to sweep the kitchen for pushing Jillian down the stairs (though she and Katie continued to protest it was an accident).

 _Sure, THIS is fair_ , Jillian thought darkly as she headed to the front hall. Tabasco in cocoa sent her into the elements. Almost breaking her older sister's spine gave Amanda the warm kitchen - and Katie was helping her out anyway. Typical Zinman family justice.

Jillian pulled on her coat and gloves. She made a quick search for her knitted hat but was obliged to grab one of her mother's before she stepped down the porch steps, careful to use the footprints Mom had left in the snow earlier. It was not even four o'clock yet, but the winter sun peeking between the gray clouds was already hanging just above the horizon, casting long, blue shadows across the white yard. Jillian took a moment to survey her surroundings, estimating how much time it would take her to clear out the front walk compared to the driveway - and it was then that her eyes happened to look across the street. A familiar, beat-up car sat in front of the vacated Johnson's house with a dark-haired man in the driver's seat.

The dark head immediately ducked down.

Jillian shouldered the large shovel and crunched her way across the snowy yard to the other side of the silent street. Once beside the car, she raised a gloved hand and rapped on the glass.

Jimmy O'James lifted his head. He gave a sheepish grin and rolled down the car window. "Hey," he said after clearing his throat. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I live here," she replied, giving him a sweeping glance. His nose looked a lot more swollen today, and she could see that under his winter coat he was wearing the black turtleneck sweater again. Did he have any other clothing?

"Uh, of course." He leaned his elbows on the frame. "How are things going with Slappy?" he smiled. "Learn how to throw your voice yet?"

"Not yet," she replied carefully. She noticed that on the passenger seat there was a stack of books, a thermos, and a few sandwiches in plastic wrap - as if he had been camping out for awhile. "It's kinda hard to get him to shut up long enough for me to say anything," she added.

Jimmy's arms slipped, and his chest connected with the car. "H-He talked to you?" he stuttered, gaping.

Jillian frowned - and thought better of it. She tilted her head, quirking her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

The look on Jimmy's face was priceless. "Well, I - uh, that is, um - " He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat again.

Jillian bit her cheek to keep from laughing, but it was still hard to look stern as she planted her free hand on her hip. "But the next time you loan out a dummy, you might tell the kid that he's alive first," she chided.

Jimmy looked up sharply - and then he gave a weak chuckle. "Good point." He cleared his throat, having the grace to look apologetic. "H-How's he doing? Has he been good?"

"Yeah, he's okay," she said. An image of Amanda gulping down the cocoa flashed across her mind, and a wicked grin tugged at her lips - which she hoped he did not see. "He's helping me figure out what's going on," she added quickly and told him about the upcoming birthday party.

Jimmy nodded slowly. "So, he's behaving himself." He sounded incredulous - then he shook himself. "I mean, he can be… he has an overwhelming personality at times," he explained, "but he can be a good dummy - when he wants." He flashed her a quick smile, sniffing a little through his bruised nose.

 _So, you have trouble with him too_ , she thought, remembering all those theater performances of the dummy and ventriloquist insulting each other. _But you keep him anyway_. "He said he likes to do three good deeds over the holidays," she commented.

Jimmy gave a strange chuckle that she could not interpret. "Yeah, he treats it like a matter of life and death."

That made Jillian blink. "Really?"

Jimmy gave another nod.

Jillian rested the shovel on the toe of her boot and leaned against the handle. "Wherever did you find him?"

Jimmy exhaled, leaning against the door. "That's a bit of a story, I'm afraid."

"I got time," she replied kindly.

He gave her a strained smile. "Yeah, but I wouldn't want your parents to look out the window and think I'm offering you candy to get into the car with me," he replied, leaning to look around her.

Jillian glanced over her shoulder. Luckily, she saw the curtains of the front windows had already been drawn to block out the cold. After Mom's earlier comment about expensive gifts, she did not blame Jimmy for feeling that way - as much as she wanted to get answers. "I guess," she sighed reluctantly.

Jimmy gave her a kind look. "The short of it," he finally said, "is that I found a dummy. I read the magic words on a piece of paper in his jacket, and he started talking to me."

Jillian quirked an eyebrow. "Magic words?"

Jimmy nodded. "From an ancient dead language, far older than Latin."

Jillian bit her lip. "Huh." A small part of her still wondered how she was having this conversation about talking dummies and magic spells, but Jillian was surprised at how quickly she was beginning to accept this new reality. Maybe next she would find out that the Easter Bunny was bingo buddies with Elvis.

Jimmy suddenly snapped his fingers. "That reminds me," he said, turning to grab something from the passenger seat. "Could you give this to him and tell him I stopped by?" he asked, handing her what turned out to be a paperback with a scrap of paper for a bookmark. "He was reading this on the way to the party yesterday, and he didn't get a chance to finish it."

Jillian looked at it to see the title, _A Pocketful of Rye_ by Agatha Christie. A little symbol in the corner said it was a mystery novel. She slipped the paperback into her coat pocket, and she suddenly thought of her own book shelf upstairs - and the half hour the dummy already had had to spend with no amusements when Harrison was in her room. She swallowed back a twinge of guilt. "You know, I feel a little sorry for him," she said after a moment.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

She nodded. "It's gotta suck to be a doll. You have to stay still all day if somebody is in the room with you. You can't watch T.V. or read a book whenever you want." She fiddled with the shovel. "I sorta know what that's like," she admitted. "I can remember being little and having to sit in a chair all day. I couldn't move a muscle because somebody was sick or something. It drove me crazy." Jillian shook her head, chasing away the memory. "Imagine if that was your whole life. And if you blinked an eye, everybody would freak out. It would be torture."

Jimmy raised a dark eyebrow. "You're a very empathic person, Jillian," he said - was there a trace of admiration?

She shrugged. "I try."

He chuckled softly before he suddenly pulled his wallet from his back pocket and withdrew a card. "I should've given this to you at the party, but if you ever need help, you can call me - day or night." He quickly handed it to her, and Jillian saw that it was a business card with a simple font spelling out his name and phone number.

"Thanks," she said, slipping into her pocket alongside the book.

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder at the road. "Better step back," he said, gesturing that he was going to pull out.

Jillian started to comply - and then she turned to the ventriloquist. "Hey, what do you call a kid who refuses to believe in Santa?"

Jimmy stopped in the middle of cranking up his window. "What?"

"A rebel without a Claus," she beamed.

A smile lit up his young face. "What kind of pizza does Good King Wenceslas like?" he returned. Jillian gave him a friendly shrug, so he said, "Deep pan, crisp, and even." With that he turned on his car.

Jillian quickly crossed to her side of the street and gave one last wave as the ventriloquist pulled out and headed down the street. She watched until he turned a corner before she spun on her heel and headed back to the front walk, shovel in hand. _Jimmy has really nice eyes_ , she thought - and despite the icy wind that had picked up, her cheeks suddenly felt warm.

* * *

Twilight had fallen by the time she scooped the last bit off snow off the driveway - and a few more flakes began to fall. " _Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow_ ," Jillian grumbled under her breath as she rubbed her gloved hands together, awkward as it was with the shovel in the crook of her arm. Well, at least Mom did not expect her to control the weather - just her temper. Jillian gripped the shovel and turned toward the house.

 _Crunch... crunch..._

Jillian frowned. It was definitely coming from Aunt Sophie's side yard. Like something was moving over the snow.

She started forward, gripping the shovel like a club - just in case - and in a few stride she was at the end of the fence. She peeked around it cautiously, squinting down the narrow patch. A long row of now white evergreen shrubs lined the perimeter of Aunt Sophie's fence, broken only near the corner to make room for the door that connected the two backyards. Though it was twilight, the snow managed to reflect what little light was available, making the enclosed area slightly brighter than normal. Jillian heard another crunch. And then her eyes spotted something slip under the bushes at the back, causing the leaves to rustle. A raccoon?

...And did it look like it had green fur?

She took three steps forward before she realized what she was doing. "Hello?" she called, gripping the shovel tighter.

The yard remained still.

"Because an animal is gonna answer back," she berated herself, turning around. Talking dummies and nuts in cupcakes did not mean everything else was supernatural. _Don't be paranoid_.

Just as she reached her own yard, suddenly there came a honk of a car, and she looked up to spot Dad's red car coming down the street. She shouldered the shovel and crossed to the other side of the driveway before her father pulled in.

"Hey, Noodle," Dad greeted as he stepped out and stretched to his full height. He was a dark-haired man with dark eyes that were almost always sparkling. Jillian could see that he was wearing the Christmas sweater Aunt Sophie had knitted for him under his winter coat. "What were you doing in Aunt Sophie's yard?" he asked.

"I thought I heard something," she admitted, stepping toward him.

Dad's eyes narrowed. "Like a person?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "Too small."

His face relaxed. "Probably a critter looking for food." He adjusted his hat to shield his bald spot from the cold and opened the back door to haul out shopping bags.

Jillian gave him a smile when he straightened. "Anything in there for me?"

His face grew businesslike as he shut the door, but his dark eyes still twinkled. "I can neither confirm or deny that."

"Can you confirm that you can't deny it?" she promptly returned.

Dad gave a laugh. "You'll find out on Friday, nosey," he teased, shifting his cargo to tweak her cold ear. "How was your day?"

A scowl cross her face. "Just great," she cracked dryly, "until Amanda pushed me down the stairs."

Dad nearly dropped his bags. "She _what_?" he gasped.

Jillian poked at her bruises through the fabric of her coat for emphasis. "And _I'm_ outside in the cold because I put hot sauce in Mary-Ellen's cocoa," she added.

Dad exhaled, sending a puff of white into the air. "Did you _tell_ someone she pushed you down the stairs?"

She lowered her gaze, fidgeting with the shovel. "Eventually."

Her father uttered a noise, obviously trying to keep his patience. "Jillian, we've talked about this."

"Well, I'm not a criminal," she insisted, raising her eyes again. "No matter what Aunt Sophie tells Mom."

Dad gave her a sad smile before he slung his free arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the porch. "They only give you the business because they love you, Noodle."

"That's love?" Jillian retorted, lowering the shovel to make room for his half-embrace.

"Some people show love by giving you candy," Dad replied, "and other people show love by making you eat an apple instead." He gave her a small squeeze. "They're stricter with you because you're eldest, sweetheart. They want you to be the best you can be - yes, Aunt Sophie too," he added at her sniff. He patted the top of her covered head. "She was there the day you came into the world. She expects great things from you." He winked. "You were named for her."

 _And there's a reason why I go by my middle name_ , Jillian thought.

He tweaked her ear again, not seeming to notice her silence as they stepped carefully onto the front stoop. "Mom and Aunt Sophie were both only children, so sometimes they can't relate to what you're going through," he reflected as they parted for him to grab the doorknob, "but I had a little sister. Whenever I messed with Aunt Babs, your grandpa would drag me by the ear over to her and ask if she wanted him to spank me. But she would start crying, 'No, no! Don't spank Davey!' Then he would let me go, and I'd be nicer to her for the rest of the day." He chuckled at the memory.

"Katie and Amanda would never say that," Jillian said flatly.

"Maybe they would. Maybe they wouldn't. But a big part of being a family is showing mercy to each other anyway, Noodle," he said. "There are way too many bullies in the world."

There was that word again, Jillian thought darkly as they stepped into the warmth of the house. What kind of person did they think she was? She did not go around stealing the girls' lunches or throwing sand in their eyes. She just wanted to teach the little brats a lesson - not damage them. Even if the feeling was not so mutual.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Dad suddenly said, stopping in the middle of removing his cap. Aunt Sophie was coming from the dining room, pulling on her gloves. Katie and Amanda followed in their coats.

"Evening, Dave," Aunt Sophie said, taking her keys out of her pocket. "The girls and I are going to grab some of my special snacks. The TV Guide says _White Christmas_ is playing tonight."

"I bet they're looking forward to more Christmas cookies," Dad teased, tugging at Katie's ponytail as she passed.

However, Katie and Amanda did not even greet Dad, much less look at him. They started down the front steps ahead of Aunt Sophie, hand in hand. Jillian saw that Mary-Ellen was not with them - for once.

Jillian tossed her gloves and hat onto the carved wooden glove tree (which had taken Dad two months to make). She pulled out Slappy's paperback from her coat and tucked it under her arm. She was about to head up the stairs when she remembered something. "Hey, Dad?" she said, causing him to pause in the process of beating snow off his boots. "When we lived in Elmville, did you ever hear of a Maddy's Bakery?"

He blinked and shook his head. "Not that I recall." He smiled and patted his belly. "But even if I had, your mother would've never let me go near it." He then put his boots on the mat to dry, scooped up his shopping bags and headed upstairs with them, no doubt to hide them in the master bedroom.

 _Well, I tried_ , she thought and started up. She glanced again at the mystery book - and immediately felt her conscience prick. From what she had seen, Jimmy seemed to be a good friend to Slappy, especially compared to that rotten Amy Kramer. And yet Slappy had volunteered to leave the convenience and safety of the young man's house to stay here where he had to play dead when he was not stuck in Jillian's room - and she had spent the last twenty-four hours just counting the minutes until she could rid of her new roommate.

 _You ingrate_ , she berated herself. Maybe she would never like the look of dolls, but, like Slappy had said, he was not just a toy; he was a person. He had feelings too. And what had she done to make him feel welcomed? Shudder and cringe whenever she was obliged to carry him during the times he needed to act lifeless. She shook her head. She had to get over herself and stop acting like a baby. Would Jimmy had really given her Slappy if the dummy was so bad?

She had just reached the landing, resolving to be nicer to her roommate, when an idea struck her. Yesterday when she had met Jimmy in the kitchen, hadn't Slappy been at the table with a can of root beer? She had not given it much thought then - why would she? - but maybe she could give Slappy a little surprise in addition to his book. Just a little something to say, "Hey, thanks for being here to help me find out what's trying to ruin my life."

The plan made her smile. She turned on her heel and started back down.

But she had barely made it halfway - had barely recalled that Slappy had been using a bendy straw, no doubt from the bag that she knew Mom had stashed in the pantry after the party - when the front door banged open, and Aunt Sophie came storming in, the twins at her heels. The old green eyes flashed behind their thick glasses as they fell upon Jillian. Her aunt let out a screech. "Sophia Jillian Zinman! What have you done this time?!"

* * *

 _Karru marri odonna loma molonu karrano_

Slappy fingered the slip of aged, yellowed paper and stared at the neatly written letters, penned by the toymaker. Though he had never met him, Slappy knew the man who had etched these six words was a genius. He had created the pinnacle of perfection that was holding the little paper after all. Slappy slid his wooden thumb against the old ink. From the first moment he had sprung to life, it had always been in his jacket, protected by a magic spell that kept his enemies from tearing it apart in his sleep - an insurance a great mind like the toymaker had the foresight to include. No matter what, the ancient words were always read by someone; the enchantments on the paper made sure of that too.

The dummy held the paper up. "I'm ready to claim her," he whispered, focusing on the letters. "I'm ready to claim the one who will be my slave for life."

He waited.

The words remained unchanged.

Well, it was worth a shot. Slappy growled and tucked the paper back into his jacket before he began to pace across the bedroom carpet, fuming silently. Even after all these years, magic was still a tricky business. Granted, most of his life was spent unconscious, waiting for an unsuspecting slave to read the words to bring him to life. When he actually was awake, those insufferable humans tried to kill him almost immediately instead of accepting their fate as his property. (They always had to pick the hard way, didn't they?) As such he had not had the time to get his powers completely down. Magic required the kind of focus he only seemed to manage when he was in a tight spot - like when he was being thrown down abandoned wells and sewers - but at least he usually _had_ magic.

Slappy clenched his wooden jaw as he circled back toward the desk, and he shot a glance at the frosted panels of the now darkened window. Day two - day two! - and he still had not knocked out a single act to beat this dumb curse. Meanwhile, time kept ticking away while he was confined to these four walls. For not the first time, Slappy wondered if he had made the right decision to leave Jimmy. At least the geek was enough of a Boy Scout to drop a few hints, intending to help the dummy preserve his life. The curse had become a sword of Damocles that Slappy had learned to live with, but now he did not have the freedom he had had at Jimmy's house. He had almost forgotten how much of his life was spent lying in some crumpled position until the humans were gone or asleep - time which he desperately needed now.

"You got any ideas, scale face?" he cracked, turning his head toward the glass cage. The little lizard, however, was dozing away, not at all bothered by the ever changing numbers on his mistress's digital alarm clock.

What a luxury.

Slappy's wooden hands curled into fists which he used to propel himself forward on locked knees. It had been weeks since he had had the nightmare that had proven to be an omen - though that premonition had not quite predicted everything which had actually happened. In Slappy's dream Jimmy had found the big box that had contained the curse at a magic store; in the waking world Jimmy had received a package with no return address. In his dream Slappy had been given to Georgia Boonshoft, a dark-haired girl with green eyes who adored puppets and had even taken Slappy with her to go babysitting. And now he was with the dark-haired, green-eyed Jillian who hated dolls and shivered whenever she had to touch him.

 _But she's really cute when she's terrified_ , he thought - and despite his frustration the corners of his wooden mouth curled into a smirk. At least this was an improvement over his nightmare. His gaze flicked to the picture frame on the desk, which contained a photo of the Zinmans on a beach vacation. The family of five smiled back at him, waving at the camera - _but they won't be smiling in a few days_.

Slappy chuckled a little as he studied his new favorite slave. It was strange to think that the human gene pool could produce such a cute creature, but, hey, the monkeys were bound to get it right sometime. Not that he had ever been interested in soft girls before - because, really, what was there even to be interested _in_? As few (and as hazardous to his overall health) as his previous experiences in that area had been, he had never understood the appeal of the human female, even when reading the snatches of his father's journal concerning the subject. In Slappy's opinion, one living doll lady with a cute face and a cruel smile on her hard, painted lips could run circles around some juice-filled, dogfaced human girl any day.

...At least, that was what he had thought until the day he had found himself in a basement workshop, jaw hanging, staring at the one soft girl that put all dolls to shame. And suddenly he had remembered a special passage in the toymaker's journal - one he had never planned to use, thinking he would never meet a human that could measure up to his standards of beauty. But never had Slappy been more glad to be wrong as he had studied her smile, heard her laugh, witnessed her startled jumps and nervous glances in his direction. He had not worried about convincing Jimmy to let him to stay with this adorable pawn, who unknowingly now had her own role in helping him beat the curse once and for all. Hadn't his dream predicted the sniveling geek would give him to a green-eyed girl, never mind the details?

Unfortunately - and this was thing that caused him to utter another growl and resume his impotent pacing - Jillian Zinman was ten times neater than the dream girl, Georgia.

Slappy glowered at his surroundings. Oh, _sure_ , maybe in her haste to pull her laundry bag from the closet to make room for him the night before, Jillian had failed to notice that a dirty sock now laid next to it, but he would not get any points for picking it up - nor for emptying her only quarter-full trash can. Nor for straightening the bedspread which was slightly crooked from her hasty, self-conscious attempt to make it look presentable before she had dashed into the bathroom to change that morning. Nope, the toymaker's curse was mercilessly specific: if Slappy wanted to live, his act of forced goodness had to fit a need. Something that actually benefited another living thing, or he would die.

As his mind racked itself for opportunities for his good deeds - from waiting until the family was all asleep to flat out telling Jillian about the curse but spinning it in such a way that Jimmy was made into an evil sorcerer tormenting an innocent, handsome dummy out of jealousy - his thoughts drifted to the one image they had revisited over and over these several weeks. Slappy surpressed a shudder as he once again saw the large pine box that had been delivered to the dressing room. No return address. And something even more horrible than the curse laying inside it.

The premonition had predicted _that_ too. In his dream Slappy had made three attempts at his good acts, from cleaning Georgia Boonshoft's room to rescuing a suffocating child in his crib. Each time he had been undermined by Wally, a blue-eyed dummy completely identical to him, right down to the red-and-white sports jacket. In the waking world...

Slappy trembled until his limbs began to rattle. Jimmy had hidden the box, but he did not seem to grasp the evil that it contained, despite Slappy's protests. The things that would happen if he were woken up again... But there was no way Slappy would let _that_ part of the dream come true.

Slappy tried to shake off the chill that had consumed his hollow body and went back to pacing. Whichever way he looked at it, he needed his magic back, and to get his magic back, he needed to beat the curse. But if he had to die, if he followed in the steps of his late brothers and sisters who had not performed their three deeds - well, he had already resolved he would not go out alone.

His eyes flicked once again to the picture of the Zinmans.

It was then there came a creak from outside the door, drawing him out of his thoughts. What sounded like soft footsteps approached, and he crumpled in a heap beside the bed, accidentally clonking his head against the floor, but he had too much control to make a sound at the sudden jolt of pain. Within moments the bedroom door eased open. Slappy continued to stare blankly at the green dots intermingled on the blue carpet, but with his peripheral vision he saw the two pairs of little feet enter the room, decked in Christmas socks. The brats were here.

He watched as they came closer. One bent down and touched his shoulder, turning him over. He now had a clear view of two little faces, both wearing identical looks of apprehension. It had been the twerp with the ponytail who had moved him. The girly one was holding a plate of cookies.

Neither of them said anything. The girly one looked at her twin - he saw naked fear in their eyes - and laid the plate down. They turned on their heels and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

Slappy waited several moments before he dared to raise his head, and he turned to look at the plate. It was filled with gingerbread men. Next to it was a paper folded in half with a crude heart drawn on the front. He propped himself onto his elbow and reached for it - and stared at the writing.

 _For Slappy_

 _From your Secret Santa_

* * *

The Zinman family den was like its own bubble of Christmas. The tree stood in the corner, assembled and decorated since the day after Thanksgiving, with an ever mounting pile of wrapped presents that completely covered the reindeer skirt now. Five stockings hung in a row on the mantle from festive hooks that were almost swallowed up by the green garland. Greeting cards hung from the Venetian blinds, framed by the deep red curtains, and wreaths decked the walls between the annual family portraits. Yet none of that Christmas cheer could be seen in the eyes of the three grown-ups standing over Jillian.

Aunt Sophie's bony hands clenched into fists, and her thin frame shook. For several moments it seemed like she could not get the words out through her bare teeth. "Too far this time!" she choked. "Too far!"

"I didn't do it," Jillian insisted, feeling her own heart pounding.

Aunt Sophie did not seem to hear. "Collected them all my life… Mother gave me so many... Wedding gift from your uncle - " Her croaky voice broke, and she covered her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut.

In a flash Mom was beside her, wrapping her thin arms around her aunt's tiny shoulders. Her blue eyes shot to Jillian, cold now. "I'm very disappointed in you, Jillian. How could you?"

"I didn't touch her dolls," she repeated for the tenth time, feeling like a prisoner pleading for her life even though the evidence was stacked against her. "I wouldn't. You know me better than that."

Dad stood over her, and he squinted his dark eyes. "Then who could have?" he asked quietly. "Aunt Sophie didn't pull her collection off the shelves. It's a complete mess over there, and someone moved the snow off the fake rock to get the spare key." After Aunt Sophie had come charging in accusing Jillian, Dad had stepped next door to take a look at the wreckage and make sure it had not actually been a burglary or something. Jillian had almost wished it had been when her father had come back, grim faced, and had ordered the twins to go upstairs. "Aunt Sophie has collected those dolls for a long time, Jillian. They're important to her."

"And I didn't do it," Mom added. "Your father didn't do it. The twins were with your aunt, so they didn't do it. Who does that leave?"

Jillian swallowed.

Aunt Sophie finally raised her head. Jillian could see tears in her green eyes even as they narrowed at her. "And I found _your_ hat at my house, young lady!" Her hand came up, holding the offending item. "The same one **_I_** knitted for your birthday." She looked betrayed.

" _When_ would I do it?" Jillian countered, feeling her apprehension spread like water from an overturned glass. "I was outside shoveling since Mom got home."

Dad folded his arms. "You were in Aunt Sophie's yard when I pulled in."

"That's because I thought I heard somethi - " She stopped short but not because of the looks the grown-ups were giving her.

Could it have been...?

Mom closed the distance between them and placed her hands on her hips. "I don't know what has gotten into you these past few months, Jillian, but it's going to stop. It has to stop." She pointed toward the front door. "You're going to go next door and help Aunt Sophie clean up. Now."

Jillian wordlessly got to her feet, too shaken even to make a sound. She followed Aunt Sophie into the hall, and it was then she caught movement in the tail of her eye. She turned her head to see Amanda and Katie sitting on the steps, watching her. Mary-Ellen was between them, staring blankly ahead. Still wearing her messy green dress.

A chill rolled down Jillian's back.

It looked sorta like - actually, a _lot_ like the green on the creature she had seen in Aunt Sophie's yard.

* * *

Aunt Sophie marched her right into the house and down the hall into her back-room den - and Jillian stopped in her tracks, gaping at the mess. The tall shelves that contained dolls and miniature furniture were now empty, and their contents scattered across the carpet as if an earthquake had shaken them from their places, which made the floor seem like a sea of porcelain limbs. Some of the fancy Victorian-esque dresses had been ripped. However, the vandal had not stopped there. Jillian saw that papers had been pulled from the desk in the corner and strewn across the toys. A tea table had been knocked over, and Aunt Sophie's prized china vase had been reduced to a puddle of water, shards, and broken flowers.

Worse of all were the eyes. The blank, lifeless eyes gazing up from the floor at odd angles while their owners' smooth faces were now covered in hairline cracks.

"Hop to it, young lady," Aunt Sophie ordered, snapping her out of her shocked trance.

Jillian had no choice. She stooped to pick up one doll that had had its rhinestone tiara split down the middle and tried to pretend she was not at all disturbed as she tucked it under her arm along with a little-boy doll dressed like a bullfighter. Fortunately, Aunt Sophie also began to grab her precious toys and stacked them over on the stiff couch, but Jillian still found it hard to focus on her work.

Her eyes darted around the room, and it was then that she noticed one of the wooden chairs had been pulled out of its place and now laid on its side beside the doll cabinet. She shivered. Could a plastic figure have pulled it over there and climbed up on it before knocking it over?

 _She's alive. She's got to be alive._

Jillian's hand fumbled to hold onto one burnette figure in pink fur, nearly smashing the already cracked head against the carpet.

"Really, Jillian!" Aunt Sophie cried.

Jillian mumbled an apology, swallowing despite her dry mouth - which gave her an idea. "Can I get a drink? Please?" she asked, clearing her throat.

Aunt Sophie gave her a suspicious squint. "If it's quick."

Jillian ducked out of the door and headed down the dark hallway, guided by the little nightlight, and stepped into the kitchen. She touched the switch on the flowery wall and strode across the tiled floor, completely ignoring the sink, and reached the back door. She pulled it open and flipped on the back-porch light. She squinted at the yard, and her heartbeat quickened. A makeshift path had been made in the snow, stretching from the wooden porch, across the yard, and right to the door separating the two houses. Like a small body had pulled its way across.

 _She HAS to be alive_ , she told herself again wildly. It was the only thing that made sense after everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. If she could have a walking, talking dummy, then her sisters could have had a living doll this entire time. It certainly explained why they fawned over such an ugly thing and why they were always trying to feed her and take her everywhere they went. _But what's Mary-Ellen's game?_ Jillian wondered bitterly. Why was she going through all this effort to get her into trouble?

 _...What if she's the one who's doing all the horrible things?_

At that thought, her heart caught in her throat.

"I had no idea that my backdoor doubled as a sink," a croaky voice drawled.

Jillian jolted and whirled around to see Aunt Sophie in the doorway, arms folded. It took Jillian a moment to find her voice. "Look, Aunt Sophie!" she cried pointing. "See? See? Somebody else was here!" She did not even bother trying to tell her about living dolls - she just wanted to make her see it too.

Aunt Sophie stepped over. She took one long look out, but then she shook her head. "That was from this afternoon when the girls ran here to tell me about what you did to their cocoa," she said coldly. "The snow is so high back here; they were practically wading." She pointed to the hall. "No more delays, young lady," she said, her old voice tightening. "You _will_ clean up after yourself, or so help me."

Jillian could only shuffle back into the den, her hands clenching and unclenching. She barely noticed the staring eyes now. Her chest felt like it would burst, and she did not know if she wanted to scream out her frustrations or give in to the growing sense of dread that was making her legs feel like jelly. She moved from one corner to another and just focused on grabbing the dolls by their limbs and transporting them over to the pile forming on the couch. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could tell the dummy about what had happened - and maybe come up with some kind of plan.

"Careful now!" Aunt Sophie scolded as Jillian grabbed one doll with golden curls which were now woefully sticking out in unflattering ways. "Uncle Brian gave me her for my thirty-eighth birthday."

Jillian gently placed the little figure on the side table, and Aunt Sophie reached out and stroked a messy strand. Though Jillian had never liked visiting Aunt Sophie's house because of her extensive doll collection, a small part of her could not help feeling sorry for her aunt. "I sorta remember him," she offered. "He talked a lot."

"He liked to encourage people," Aunt Sophie agreed wistfully as she straightened the skirt on a doll with dark skin and brown eyes. "Sometimes he went overboard with it," she admitted with a wry chuckle, "but he always saw the best in others."

 _Wish he were here now_ , Jillian thought ruefully. She bent over a stack of letters that had been scattered. She could see the addresses alternated between Mrs. Sophia Stander and Mrs. Brian Stander. A few were wrinkled from the puddle of flower water, and Jillian did her best to stack them into a neat pile before she reached for the white box they must have been dumped out of - and promptly did a double take as she caught sight of the label.

MADDY'S BAKERY, ELMVILLE

Jillian gaped at it for a long moment before she recovered and looked over her shoulder. "Aunt Sophie? What's this?"

Aunt Sophie tore her eyes from a set of triplet babies in matching christening gowns and glanced at the box. "That?" She stepped over, opening the lid. "These are just bills I have to sort through."

"I mean the box," Jillian replied quickly, watching her aunt's face.

Aunt Sophie looked at the label and let out a croaky laugh. "Oh, goodness, that's old. I recycle boxes when I'm through with them," she explained, placing it on the abandoned shelf. "You never know when you'll need one."

"But you never buy from bakeries," Jillian pointed out. Since Aunt Sophie had helped raise Mom way back when Grandma Jill got sick, Mom had inherited a lot of her aunt's opinions, including the idea that homemade beat store bought any day.

Aunt Sophie gave another small laugh, a look of nostalgia on her wrinkled face. "Maddy was my old neighbor," she replied. "Nice girl. She offered to buy my gingerbread recipe even after I showed her my secret ingredient." She ran a bony finger over the label. "She gave me a batch of cupcakes for helping her get rid of a little pest." Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, Aunt Sophie's green eyes squinted behind her glasses. "Why do you ask, dear?"

That gave Jillian a jolt. "I was talking to someone who likes this bakery," she said quickly.

"Who?" her aunt asked.

Jillian shrugged, keeping her face casual. "Some guy I saw at the Little Theater."

A white eyebrow rose. A small smile appeared on the wrinkled mouth. "Was he cute?"

Jillian blanched. "Aunt Sophie!"

Her aunt gave a quiet chuckle, her old eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, he must've been there quite awhile ago," she said after a moment, a little more somberly. "Maddy's went out of business about two years ago, the poor girl."

"Oh." Jillian looked down at her hands, but she felt a rush of excitement. What a stroke of luck! Remembering the eager look on Slappy's face that morning, she opened her mouth to ask more about the bakery, but Aunt Sophie suddenly laid a hand on Jillian's thin shoulder, looking grave.

"Jillian," she said slowly, "you know I'm not the Big Bad Wolf, right?"

Jillian took a moment before she answered. "Of course, I know that."

Her aunt's wrinkled face remained somber. "I give you a hard time only because I need to be firm with you - but you do know that I want us to have fun together, don't you? I may have tea parties with your sisters, but that doesn't mean I love them more. You're my niece too, baby doll."

Jillian said nothing.

Aunt Sophie exhaled. "You're a lot like me in some ways, child," she said and patted Jillian's head in the same way Mom's smooth hands often did, but Jillian did not feel even remotely comfortable under her aunt's bony fingers. Aunt Sophie casted a rueful glance at her toy collection. "When I was a girl," she said quietly, "all I wanted was to learn to make dolls, so I apprenticed myself to the local toymaker. He was the best there was, and I learned much from him - including many of his bad habits."

"Like what?" Jillian heard herself ask before she could stop herself.

Aunt Sophie did not answer right away. "Well, let's just say he had a way of dealing with rude customers," she said slowly, still looking at her dolls. "Anyone who tried to pull a fast one on him - anyone who lied and said his work was defected so that they could get it at a discount... well, they got more than they bargained for with him." She heaved a sigh, rubbing her wrinkled temple. "As a young girl, it seemed so reasonable to do like him. Especially when rich ladies came in and sneered at my simple dresses. Or scratched my dolls and claimed that they were delivered in damaged conditions to cheat us out of money. And I ended up doing a lot of things I regret to this day." She turned back to Jillian. "I don't want that for you."

Jillian said nothing.

Aunt Sophie shook her head at her silence. "I know you think getting revenge will make things 'fair' somehow, and a lot of of the time it seems perfectly reasonable." She began to list on her fingers. "Your sisters tease you yesterday, so you want to hit them. I send you upstairs to your room, so then you sneak over here and wreck my den. Your parents say you need to clean your room before you can go out, so you play a trick with your mother's cupcakes. Katie says you - "

But Jillian's head had snapped up. "Wait, what cupcakes?" she demanded, cutting her aunt off.

Aunt Sophie's face morphed as she realized she had said too much - but she straightened her tiny shoulders and folded her arms. "Well, it's not my place to discuss it," she said stiffly. "That's your mother's job."

Jillian's fists tightened. "You guys think - Alice's party - You -" The words were almost choking her.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Aunt Sophie said quickly, turning away. "That's between you and your parents. And Alice's family." She suddenly seemed very interested in dusting off the little lamp beside the couch.

Jillian could barely contain her fury. "If I wanted to get back at Mom, I wouldn't try to kill a little girl," she said through her teeth. She had not even remembered the argument about cleaning her room. "Do you all think I'm that sick?"

Aunt Sophie exhaled, finally raising her head to look at her. "Well, how do you think the peanuts got into the cupcakes then, Jillian?" she asked softly. "Are you saying your mother did it?"

Jillian had no answer - not one anyone would believe. All she could do was turn on her heel and storm out of the den. She headed right to the sweet-smelling downstairs bathroom and locked herself in.

* * *

After what seemed like hours later, Jillian heard a soft knock. "Sweetie, you can go home now," Aunt Sophie croaked through the door.

Jillian slipped off the pink toilet and twisted the doorknob, which clicked as it unlocked. She slipped past Aunt Sophie without a word, heading to get her coat. Her aunt's soft footsteps followed behind her.

"This is for you, baby doll," the older woman said when they were in the front hall. She held a paper plate with her famous gingerbread cookies, wrapped in cellophane.

Jillian accepted it in stony silence and ducked out of reach when her aunt spread her arms to give her a departing hug. She hurried out into the cold night before Aunt Sophie could say another word.

She waited until she was in her own yard before she dumped the attempt at a peace offering into the sewer drain and stomped the rest of the way to the house. Dad had turned on the white Christmas lights, which would have normally looked pretty, but Jillian barely noticed them. She gritted her teeth, fighting back the emotions which threatened to engulf her. She knew her parents must have suspected she had had a hand in Alice's cupcakes, but she had thought - well, hoped - they had chalked it all up to an accident or incompetence on her part. But all this time, they thought she was some psycho - while the real culprit had been sleeping down the hall from her.

Jillian clenched her fists until her palms hurt. As she strode up the front steps, fear melted into a rage she had never before experienced. If Mary-Ellen thought she could do more horrible things, she had another think coming.

She threw open the front and kicked off her snow-covered boots. She caught sight of the clock in the hall and let out a frustrated growl that was almost a scream. On top of everything, she was late giving Petey his dinner. She stomped up the stairs, not caring if her parents heard and scolded her for it. She shoved open her bedroom door and -

\- stopped stock still, staring.

Slappy leaned over the lip of the glass cage, his skinny hands hanging inside the small space. Petey pecked contently at the tiny dead bugs between the wooden fingers, not seeming to notice that his new friend was a three-foot toy. The dummy turned his head as Jillian came in, and he suddenly broke into a shrill guffaw. "My kingdom for a camera!" he cried, slapping the glass.

A rush of relief coursed through Jillian, and she quickly shut the door behind her. "Thank you!" she sighed with appreciation, stepping forward. "I owe you one!"

Slappy's mouth widened in response. "You should smile more, darling," he said. "It does wonders for your face."

Jillian quickly manuevered around the wooden dummy to scoop up the little reptile, too grateful to give more than a passing thought as to whether Slappy had just given her a compliment or an insult. At least one thing turned out right tonight. She propped her precious cargo onto her shoulder, cuddling him. "That's my good boy," she cooed, and Petey leaned into her fingers.

Slappy gave a quiet chuckle. "One deed down," she thought she heard him murmur under his nonexistent breath. She turned to see him watching her, still with that amused smirk. "What kept you?"

Jillian exhaled through her teeth, holding her lizard closer. "You wouldn't believe what I've been through," she said and quickly told him what had happened.

Slappy's smile morphed into a look of deep concentration as he listened, and his cold eyes suddenly flashed in anger when she mentioned her knitted cap being found out at the scene of the crime. "That plagarist!" he swore when she finished, his jaw clicking violently as he jumped off the table, landing on his heavy shoes with a THUD. "Bet she was listening outside the door, the uncreative hack!"

Jillian did not even know if she should be more creeped out or angry at the thought of that big doll pressing her plastic ear to her bedroom door. "You really think so?"

"It's not like she has the brains for my level of mischief," he growled, starting to pace. "I ought to pull her head off for that," he declared, miming the action in the air. "Nobody steals my ideas - _nobody_ , you hear?"

Jillian stepped over to her desk and sunk into the chair, petting Petey to keep herself from being swallowed up in the building tumult of emotions - and her eyes fell upon a plate with gingerbread cookies. "What's this?"

"A gift," Slappy said with an impatience wave. "From our resident Quasimodo. I'd offer you some, but I wouldn't want you eating anything she's touched. Could be poisoned."

Jillian stared at the offering, jaw dropping. "She brought it in _herself_?" she gasped.

"Well, she's not that stupid," the dummy said, slowly in his awkward gait. "The brats were in here earlier."

Jillian's heart twisted. "So... they _are_ helping her," she said softly, turning that over in her mind. Once again she remembered the pain from when she had landed at the bottom of the steps, and her stomach began to churn. "And I get blamed for everything."

"That's life," Slappy said.

She gritted her teeth. Petey squirmed then, and she realized she had squeezed him too hard. She petted him quickly, murmuring an apology until he settled again, and she turned back to the dummy. "What are we going to do?"

"Good question," he exhaled - an impressive feat considering he had no lungs. "Just give me some time to think, softie." He turned himself and teetered toward her bed, soon pulling himself beside her alarm clock. He flicked on the radio and began to flip through the channels.

Jillian stared at him. "Do you really want to be listening to music right now?"

"When I find some, I'll tell you," he cracked, his cold eyes flicking toward her. "Don't rush me on this, kid. I have a reputation to protect, and I need all my smarts for it."

Jillian stroked Petey's head and tried to hide her impatience as she watched him skip from station to station, ranting under his breath about creative sterility, but it was hard to tell if he was talking about the musicians or Mary-Ellen. Jillian was considering going downstairs to get herself something to drink when she remembered something. "Oh, by the way," she said, pushing Petey back up her shoulder as he began to slip down, "Jimmy was here earlier."

Slappy's head snapped up. For a brief second, Jillian thought she saw a look of pure outrage cross his eyes - but then he tilted his head with a companionable expression. "Do tell?" he beamed broadly. "What did the ol' boy want?"

"He was just checking up on you," Jillian replied, inwardly scolding herself. "He even dropped off your book - I must have left it in the den when my folks yelled at me," she apologized.

Slappy quirked a dark eyebrow. "Did he say anything about me?"

She shrugged. "Not really."

The dummy jerked his wooden head, seeming satisfied. "That's good - because you shouldn't take everything he says seriously, sweet eyes," he added with a bit of a snicker. "That kid will believe anything he hears. I once told him I was made from a coffin stolen in the late nineteenth century, but that's a lie. My coffin was actually a more recent vintage," he quipped.

Jillian made a face. "Don't even joke."

He giggled again - but then his smile vanished as his attention returned to the radio clock. "Pathetic," he muttered, flicking it off on a channel playing Mozart.

Jillian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, what _do_ you like then?" she asked with as much patience as she could muster.

Slappy uttered a snort, folding his arms. "I don't think a sweet little girl like you would know my music," he sneered.

"Try me," she challenged, not liking his condescending tone.

He looked at her for a moment and then, softly, his raspy voice began to sing a melody: " _Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear, and it shows them pearly white..._ "

Jillian leaned forward. " _Just a jack knife has old MacHeath, babe_ ," she sang back, feeling a smile spread, " _and he keeps it out of sight_."

The result could not have been funnier. Slappy's scowl transformed into a look of complete shock, and his jaw dropped so low it was in danger of falling off. "You know it?" he gaped.

Jillian uttered a laugh, the first one in hours. "Are you kidding?" she grinned. "My parents _love_ old jazz songs. My dad sang a Frank Sinatra song right before he proposed to Mom - hang on!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet. She gently placed Petey back inside his cage before she dashed down the hall into her parent's room. Within moments she returned with a little cassette, and she popped it into her tape player. She checked the song list on the back and pressed fast-forwarded to the correct spot.

The last notes of a Louis Armstong song faded, and there was a brief silence - and then a jazzy drumbeat began. Within moments Bobby Darin's gorgeous voice sang the opening lyrics, accompanied by a clarinet. The best cover of "Mack the Knife" in the universe, according to Mom.

Jillian turned to Slappy with a beam - and she saw him staring at her, as if oblivious to everything else. "You catching flies there?" she laughed.

He seemed to have recovered his voice. "I... wouldn't have thought you like this kinda music," he said slowly.

Jillian snickered. "What? Jazz? Or songs about guys with knives?"

"Both," he admitted, still regarding her with an expression she could not decipher. "I've only met one person who likes this song - and I haven't seen her in years."

She shrugged, nodding her head to the music. "Well, I was raised with it, so, you know."

He nodded slowly, and a glint of mischief appeared. "Not quite the pristine angel, are you?" he grinned - with admiration - and he finally tore his painted eyes off her and turned his attention to the tape player. His stiff fingers pressed the rewind button to start it from the beginning.

The music began again, and Jillian bit back a laugh as she watched him become absorbed in the song, bobbing his wooden head. His raspy voice attempted to hum the cheerfully dark lyrics, though it came nowhere close to Bobby Darin's vocals. Still - Jillian could not help noticing - he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. His blue eyes were not so cold, and his chipped mouth not so leering. Sitting here, letting himself get lost in the music, he looked almost... well, not handsome, she corrected herself, shaking her head. No one would ever mistake him for a Ken doll, but he did look... nicer. Like someone you could hang out with.

 _He's not so bad. Once you get used to him_ , she mused, surveying his happy face. She could have certainly gotten someone worse in her corner to take down an ugly, evil doll, and, well, she found she was becoming more and more glad that he was here with her. Even if he did call her soft head.

But even as she watched him, her smile faded as her thoughts drifted once again to Mary-Ellen - and her sisters. A strange tight feeling came to her chest as she remembered her tumble down the stairs. Maybe Amanda had not done it, but that just meant she had to have seen that doll shove her - and Katie had to have known too - and the two of them still had demanded Jillian fix cocoa for the doll that had almost killed her.

Had they been in on all the horrible pranks - the pie trick, the piñata, the cupcakes? Had they all had a big laugh afterwards?

Her fingers clenched. _Mary-Ellen is going down, girls, and if you're on her side... well, you'll be sorry._

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Yeah, so did you know that Mr. Wood and Wally are not literally the same dummy? Mr. Wood has red hair and green eyes (like the TV version of Slappy) while Wally is perfectly identical to Slappy, which is a major plot point in the book. Slappy is given to Georgia Boonshoft, and he has to complete three deeds within a week or fall asleep forever. One of his attempts involves putting on a show for a girl in a wheelchair, but this is sabotaged when she is pushed down a hill, and the only witness was Georgia's sister, Stella. Stella claims Slappy did it, which makes him think that she is doing horrible things to Georgia out of jealousy. Of course, Wally was the culprit Stella saw, but notice that Stella did not say, "Slappy did it - and he suddenly had red hair and green eyes for some reason." Nope, Wally is described as having blue eyes and wearing the exact same outfit as Slappy, and Jimmy even refers to him as a prototype to Slappy. You can always make the argument that Wally is how Slappy's subconscious views Mr. Wood, naturally, but they are not literally the same character.

Now, some of you might be thinking, "Hey, didn't I see on the Goosebumps fan wikia that RL Stine said that Mr. Wood is Wally because he's named after a favorite artist?" Sure, the wikia says that. But the wikia fails to link to the interview where Stine allegedly said this. Since many entries of the wikia are just plagiarized passages from Blogger Beware (including the mistakes in Troy Steele's descriptions of plot events), I'm hesitant to accept that as canon. Still, the new Slappy's World series will be launched in 2017. If it turns out that Mr. Wood and Wally are the same dummy, you're free to ignore this (but, Mr. Stine, you still have some explaining to do about Wally's colors).

That said, who wants to see Wally and Mr. Wood do an epic team up against Slappy?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: A great big shout-out to hanybony1614 and TheOperaticOne over on DA for the _Goosebumps_ fanart inspired by my fanfics. W00t!

I have this story planned in advance to the point that the final scene has long been a rough draft. My issue tends to be finding the motivation to take the rough draft and clean it up into the next chapter, but the guest review from this past December gave me the boost of enthusiasm I needed to complete this chapter. Thank you, anonymous person! (And it doesn't matter how long it's been since the last update; I value your reviews, guys. Even the ones I still occasionally get for Deal with the Dummy make me smile!)

* * *

She couldn't move.

To be perfectly honest, she _could_ move. Her legs and arms still worked and had great strength, but if she did choose to stir from her chair or lost the simpering expression on her stiff face or even chose to look at something other than the stocking-adorn fireplace that the brunette bimbo had chosen to turn her toward, the Zinmans would start screaming and calling for the old woman, and then she would be dead meat.

If only those fools would go to bed - but the husband and wife were still making goo-goo eyes at each other, touching the wife's pregnant belly and toasting to the upcoming holidays as they gently danced beside the Christmas tree that had been up since Thanksgiving.

Freaks.

 _Yule be sorry. Yule be sorry_ , she kept reciting to herself as she watched the fire, biding her time...

* * *

A tapping drew Jillian out of her slumber - not the kind of tap her mother would have given her, but rather a hand that felt stiff and smaller than her sisters'. She opened one eye to meet a grinning face and large blue eyes.

"Rise and shine, kid," Slappy smirked. "We got a big day ahead of us."

Despite wishing he had let her alarm clock wake her, Jillian could not help returning the wicked smile.

* * *

Jillian was in a good mood throughout school. Even the pop quiz Mrs. Armstrong gave them in math class could not steal away the grin that accompanied her through her day, and she did not groan when they had to do laps in gym. When Danielle Matthews grumbled about school lasting right until Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve, Jillian just smiled at her friend and asked what she was planning to bring to their homeroom Christmas party. When it was time for lunch, she had a spring in her step all the way to the cafeteria, humming "Feliz Navidad" - and why shouldn't she be so happy on this glorious day?

They finally had a plan to get back at Mary-Ellen.

It had been Dad who had given them the idea. He had come into her room after dinner the previous night to ask her a favor - although he had been momentarily distracted by the sight of the grinning dummy staring back at him from Jillian's desk. "I thought you hated dolls," he had said as he had picked up the puppet.

"This one is cool," Jillian had replied, and she had been pretty sure she had seen the wooden eyes glitter a little.

Dad had nodded, squinting his own dark eyes at the grinning face. Fortunately, he had not made any comments about Jimmy giving out expensive gifts but had instead complimented the carpentry that had gone into Slappy before he handed the dummy back to Jillian, who leaned him against the headboard beside her. "You know," Dad had said then, "Mrs. Shapiro is bringing Stevie over tomorrow. You could help your mother out and entertain the kids while the grown-ups talk."

"I don't know - " she had started to say, but at that exact moment she had heard a scratchy imitation of her own voice.

"Sure, Pop!"

Jillian had promptly coughed into her hand. "I mean, sure, Dad."

When her father had gone, she had turned to Slappy with a raised eyebrow, and the dummy had giggled. "Don't you just love it when opportunities just fall into your lap?" he had said. He had then explained his impromptu plan: use Mary-Ellen's desire for destruction against her.

Jillian smirked at the memory as she placed her lunch tray of pasta and heavily drenched salad on the table and settled onto the bench. Revenge made everything sweeter.

"You look like you're in a good mood," a familiar voice said, cutting into her thoughts.

Jillian looked up and gave Harrison a pleasant smile. "Just the spirit of the holidays, I guess."

Harrison plopped down across from her. Today he wore an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a blue turtleneck with several white Stars of David on the front, and the plaid design of the flannel made him look somehow larger than normal. One hand held a sandwich with peanut butter and bananas which he munched on. "So, did you get Christmas off?" he asked, one cheek puffed out like a squirrel's. "Can you come to the party?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. "Yesterday was hectic, but I can ask Mom today."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "A lot happened after I left?"

"You'd be surprised," she said darkly as she stabbed her spork into her shortly cut spaghetti, feeling her good mood flying away. She still had bruises from getting pushed down the stairs - and she did not want to tell Harrison just yet what her parents believed about her. Not here in this noisy cafeteria anyway.

Fortunately, Harrison changed the subject for her. "Forget your sisters for right now," he said, waving his huge hand. "I've gotten more ideas. I filled up ten pages in my notebook with jokes we can use. I think Slappy will be great at slinging insults at Maxie."

"Careful, his head is swelled up enough as it is," she muttered.

Harrison chuckled. "Say, can I come over? I could use the practice, and you still gotta see Maxie."

She hesitated. Slappy had come up with their plan, and he probably would not like Harrison showing up out of the blue. "I don't know," she said carefully. "My parents are meeting with their lawyer, and I got to watch the girls."

"I've helped you babysit before," he returned, "and we can use them as a test audience for our act. We can even ask your mom about the party together. She'll have to say yes once I tell her how much Benny is looking forward to it."

Jillian bit her lip. What could she say to that? _"Sorry, Harrison, but my new dummy and I are gonna get revenge against my sisters and their doll - who's alive by the way - so butt out"?_

"I got a lotta homework," she tried, but Harrison grinned.

"So do I. We can help each other out. You're better at English than I am," he added, giving her a hopeful look.

 _Think of something, you idiot_ , she scolded herself, but even so she weighed her options. Harrison had been her best friend since she was seven, and he had always had her back in everything. He could be useful if the time came for it. His big arms had lots of strength for his age, and if something went wrong with Slappy's plan, Harrison could probably help out.

 _And if something does go wrong, it could be just you against Mary-Ellen…_

Jillian forced a smile. "Sure, the more, the merrier."

* * *

She biked home as quickly as she could over the icy roads. Before her house came into view, Jillian saw that Mrs. Shapiro's silver car was parked in the street out front. She took a deep breath and picked up speed, pedaling over the powdered sidewalk. She left her bike in the garage and headed into the house. As she shredded her coat, she could hear her parents' voices in the living room while three sets of seven-year-old voices argued in the den.

"Can't we watch _Wishbone_?" complained Stevie Shapiro.

"But Mary-Ellen wants to watch _Jolly Holly Holiday_ ," Katie insisted.

"Pretty-bitty please with Christmas trees," sang Amanda.

Jillian rolled her eyes and kicked off her wet boots before she started up the steps.

Within seconds she heard two pairs of feet charging out of the den.

"Where's Slappy?" Amanda called after her.

"Stevie wants to see him," Katie chimed in, "but he's not in your room."

Jillian turned, giving them a look. "If you know that he's not in my room, then you know _why_ he's not in my room."

"Huh?" Both girls looked confused, but Jillian turned on her heel and continued up the stairs.

She waited a few moments before she pushed open her parents' door and made a beeline for the walk-in closet. She flicked the light switch on and off three times, and from the shelf above her mother's dresses rose a wooden head.

Slappy slipped the headphones off his carved ears. "At long last," he smiled and pushed himself up. With the cassette player and headphones in hand, he dropped into her waiting arms, and she carried him back to the hall. Slappy hummed a scratchy jazz song under his breath which Jillian recognized as "Artificial Flowers", an upbeat, energetic tune about how a kid freezes to death.

 _He's a lot more pleasant when he's in a good mood,_ Jillian thought before she took the dummy into her room so that she could check on Petey. The lizard snoozed contently and barely stirred as Jillian reached down to pet him. "I'm glad they didn't mess with him," she told Slappy.

The puppet snorted, shifting his position on the desk where she had placed him. "The twerps are her eyes and ears in this house. She wouldn't risk getting them in trouble unless she thought it was worth it."

"I guess," Jillian said and replaced the lid on the glass cage. If Mary-Ellen and the twins ever hurt her lizard, she did not care if she got punished for throwing all three out a window.

Slappy folded his hands on his wooden lap, and a smirk danced across his chipped lips. "You ready for the show, kiddo?"

"You know it," Jillian grinned, but even so her heartbeat quickened as she realized how close they were to putting their plan into motion.

It was simple enough, and Slappy had said that was what made it a guarantee to work. Since Mary-Ellen was dead set on ruining Jillian's life through any means possible, a meeting between the Zinman parents with their lawyer would give Mary-Ellen ample opportunity to discredit Jillian even further. They just needed to use the doll's false sense of security.

Slappy had instructed her the previous night: "Just hang around your parents as much as possible so that you have an alibi. Leave me somewhere the two pimples can grab me. The moment they start to do something, I'll grab a wrist and not let go. That will get them to make enough noise that your parents will run in - and catch them in the act." His grin had changed into a sinister smile. "And if Scary Mary is the one to grab me, well, she'll see what happens to plagiarists." Slappy had assured her that, if Mary-Ellen's plot was sinister enough, her parents might take the doll away from the girls and lock her up - "And then we can make our next move," he had chuckled darkly.

Jillian was glad to have any plan at this point, and she could already see the two of them taking revenge on that mean-spirited doll, but even so, now she cast a doubtful glance at her wooden companion. "You sure you're gonna be okay as a bait?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you worried about me, Jillian?" he asked sweetly.

"Knock it off," she chided, grabbing her old joke book - and then she remembered what had happened at lunch. "I almost forgot," Jillian said, casually flipping through the pages. "Harrison's coming over."

Slappy's head snapped up. "Why?"

"I invited him."

"Well, un-invite him," Slappy shot back. "We don't need him messing things up."

"We could use the extra eyes," Jillian countered. "Mary-Ellen messed things up for Harrison too. He didn't get paid for any of our jobs."

"Three's a crowd, kid. The more complicated you make this, the more easy it is for Mary-Smellen to slip through our fingers."

"It's just Harrison," Jillian insisted. "Wouldn't having him here to do the puppet act make her think everything is normal?"

"She already knows I'm alive. How normal do you think this is gonna be?"

They did not have time for further discussion because it was then that the doorbell rang.

Jillian looked down at the dummy. "That's him."

Slappy scowled. "I'm telling you this is gonna be trouble."

Jillian sighed. "But there's safety in numbers. C'mon." She leaned down to pick him up. She tucked Slappy under her arm and went to answer the door.

* * *

"Hi, Harrison," Amanda greeted from the den's entrance, waving at the older boy as he knocked the snow off his boots.

Harrison gave her an awkward wave before he grabbed his big bag and pushed past Jillian and Slappy to hurry down the hall toward the kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, Jillian saw Katie pretend to puke, and Stevie snickered. Amanda's little face pinked, and she rushed back into the den. Jillian opened her mouth to tell Katie to knock it off, but she decided she did not care and kept walking to the kitchen.

Harrison had already slung his bag onto the area of the kitchen table that was not covered in glass jam jars which Mom had been cleaning that morning to fill up with red-and-green candies for Dad's co-workers at the upcoming office Christmas party. Harrison's huge hands carefully unzipped the bag and pulled a limp figure and sat down with it on his lap. "Isn't he awesome?" Harrison beamed, turning the dummy to face Jillian.

"Grandma, what big teeth you have," Jillian said, surveying Maxie's blank face. Huge buckteeth protruded out in a distinct overbite, and a squat nose sat above it, offset with a wig of brown hair that had seen better days. Maybe it was because she had been spending so much time with Slappy, but she thought the lifeless puppet had a distinctly unintelligent look to him.

"Ny name is Naxie," Harrison made the little mouth say, obviously trying to produce the M sound without moving his lips. "How adout a dig kiss, Jillian?"

"Gag," Jillian replied, sidestepping around Harrison to claim the chair beside him. She had only just situated Slappy onto her lap, carefully to fold his hands in a comfortable position, when Mom strolled in from the dining room.

Her blue eyes widened as she caught sight of them. "Oh, your puppet show," she said, and Jillian thought her tone was rather flat as she said it.

"Hi, Nissus Z.," Harrison made Maxie say, waving his limp hand at her.

Mom gave the boy a polite smile. "Did Mr. O'James give you a dummy too, Harrison?"

"Nope, my uncle," he said proudly, adjusting Maxie's sweater. "It's kinda a family business."

"How fun," Mom replied, sounding much warmer, before she turned to Jillian. "Sweetie, could you go down to the basement and bring up the family albums? Harrison can help you," she added, her eyes shifting to the bulky boy, who gave an obedient nod.

Harrison started to put Maxie on top of his bag when his dark eyes lit up with remembrance. "Oh, Mrs. Z., we wanted to ask you something."

Mom smiled at Harrison. "What's on your mind, sweetie?"

Jillian turned to her mother, and her grip on Slappy tightened a little. "Harrison's cousin is having a birthday party this week, and we wanted to put on a show for him."

"No clown acts this time," Harrison added.

"When is it?"

Jillian fiddled with the white cuff beneath Slappy's checkered sleeve. "Friday."

Mom pursed her lips. "Christmas is really about family, sweetie, so I don't think - "

"Harrison is family," Jillian countered. "And it's gonna be in the afternoon. We never do anything on Christmas afternoon. Last year when we were in Elmville, Dad took a nap while you and Aunt Sophie talked in the kitchen, and the twins and I just watched movies."

"And it'll be one or two hours, tops," added Harrison.

Mom furrowed her brow. "I'll discuss it with your father," she said. "For now, get the albums."

 _Does she think I'm gonna kill Harrison's cousin?_ Jillian wondered bitterly as her mother headed back to the living room. Jillian set Slappy beside the jam jars, and Harrison propped Maxie right beside him. He spun away, not seeming to notice that the lifeless puppet had slumped against Slappy.

Jillian took a moment to organize both dummies. She gave Slappy a concerned look, but as she watched his still face, one eyelid slowly closed in a wink.

 _I'll be okay, kiddo_.

She mouthed, " _Be right back_ ," before she followed Harrison down the basement steps.

* * *

The albums were stored on a bottom shelf in the rec room, and it did not take them long to pull them out and make stacks to carry. Kneeling beside his pile, Harrison flipped through the top album, which Jillian recognized as the oldest of the bunch. That one began with the day they had moved into their current house. "So, where are all your embarrassing baby pictures?" Harrison teased.

"Like I'd let you see them," Jillian retorted, gathering her own stack into her arms. "Besides, those were destroyed back in the house fire."

"Oh, yeah," Harrison said, shaking his head. "I should've remembered after all the marshmallows I had to roast for you at camp."

Though she wanted to get upstairs as quickly as possible, Jillian took a moment to give him a too-sweet smile. "But you were being a good friend, Harry."

Harrison looked heavenward. "Being a good friend feels a lot like slave labor when I'm around you."

Jillian widened her eyes. "There's a difference?" That got him to laugh.

Jillian peeked at the photo albums she carried. She could not exactly remember the fire that had destroyed their Elmville home, but she had always had an unease around flames that were larger than a birthday candle. Even on cool nights at summer camp, she had preferred to shiver on the benches furthest away from the fire pit during the weekly cook-outs, sending Harrison or one of the girls from her tent to roast hot dogs in her place.

"Mom lost a lot of family heirlooms in that fire," Jillian told Harrison. "Including all the photos of her mom. I still don't know what Grandma Jill looked like."

"That sucks," Harrison said sympathetically.

It was funny how something she could not even remember could still affect her seven years later. It was like how dolls weirded her out; she could not explain why or remember anything that could have started it, but she still shuddered when she went into her sisters' room after they pulled out their human-looking toys.

She then remembered Slappy and what the twins could possibly be doing to him, and she turned on her heel. "C'mon, let's go."

She did not wait for Harrison to pick up his stack before she headed up the stairs.

* * *

Slappy grinned back at her, unperturbed, as she stuck her head into the kitchen. She sighed softly with relief.

Heavy footsteps lumbered up the stairs behind her, and Jillian readjusted her grip on the albums and started for the living room as Harrison stepped into the hall.

Suddenly, Amanda materialized in front of Jillian. "Harrison, can you help me tie my shoe?"

"Jillian's a lot better at knot tying than me."

"Pass," Jillian sniffed and headed into the living room.

"Excellent!" Mom beamed as Jillian laid her burden down on the coffee table. She pulled the top book into her lap and began to turn the pages. "We really should have more of these framed, David." Her smile suddenly widened. "Jillian, look at this one," she said, turning the book around. "It's the first picture of you as a big sister."

Jillian saw her five-year-old self in a Christmas sweater and kneeling between two baby carriers, each of which held a newborn with wisps of black hair and closed eyes. Little Jillian smiled adoringly at one of the babies (it might have been Amanda), and she looked as if Santa had given her everything she had asked. _If you only knew, Jill…_

Dad gave a chuckle. "We couldn't keep you away from them when they were babies," he said with a nostalgic smile. "We'd put the twins down for a nap, and not five minutes later we'd hear you on the baby monitor, talking to them. You were always wanting to hold them and give them kisses."

"You climbed into Katie's crib once and tried to take a nap with her," Mom added warmly. "I came in and said, 'Sophia Zinman, what are you doing?' and you said, 'Mommy, her bed is too cold! She needs me!'" Mom looked down at the other baby pictures, running a hand over them. "You wanted to be the best big sister ever."

"Then they learned how to walk, and it all went downhill from there," Jillian said dryly. She pointed at the albums. "Are those for the court case?"

All three of the adults visibly stiffened, but Mrs. Shapiro gave her a professional smile. "We're just looking for photos that will cast your family in a positive light. We probably won't even make it to trial."

 _The family or me?_

Dad suddenly reached out and patted Jillian's hand. "Let us worry about the court case, honey. You go have fun with Harrison now."

Jillian met his eyes. "I didn't do it, you know," she said quietly.

Dad's smile did not falter, but Jillian was sure she saw the sparkle diminish in his dark eyes. "Mrs. Shapiro is doing everything she can to help us. Don't sweat it. You go have fun."

Jillian's nails dug into her palm. She opened her mouth to say something - exactly what she did not know - but it was then that Harrison came in and laid down his stack of albums on the coffee table. "There you go, Mrs. Z."

Mom gave him a quick grin. "Thank you, Harrison. You guys can help yourself to ice cream if you want."

"Sweet!" Harrison beamed back and turned toward Jillian, but his eyebrow suddenly rose when he saw his friend's expression.

Jillian spun on her heel and strode away. Though the living room led into the dining room, which connected to the doorless kitchen, the two friends retreated into the hallway, out of sight of the grown-ups.

"What's up?" Harrison asked softly.

Jillian tightened her jaw. "Do you think what happened to us have been accidents?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Well... Maybe they're just bad luck."

"My parents don't think so," she responded, looking over her shoulder. Her throat tightened, and she could feel her eyes grow hot. "They think I'm..." She could not bring herself to say it.

His dark eyes narrowed. "What?"

She turned away. "Let's get back to practicing," she said through her teeth before continuing into the kitchen -

\- And immediately froze in her tracks.

Maxie grinned back at her beside the cleaned glass jars, but Slappy was gone.

* * *

Jillian paused in the doorway of the kitchen and listened, expecting to hear the twins screaming because a dummy grabbed hold on them and wouldn't let go, but aside from the cheerful voice of Susie Snowflake on the television, the den was silent.

She spun away, leaving behind a curious Harrison, and crossed over to peek inside. The three kids sat in a circle in front of the couch. Slappy sat on Stevie's lap, and the little boy had his hand in the dummy's back, making the face change and contort. Katie snickered on his right while Amanda seemed more interested in straightening Slappy's gray slacks so that they covered the tops of his black shoes. No shaving cream or weird stuff being shoved inside the puppet for Jillian to discover. No tampering with controls.

So, what were they up to?

Just as Jillian thought to slip away so that Slappy could finish his job, Stevie looked and jumped at the sight of Jillian. "I was only looking!" the boy cried, shoving Slappy into Katie's arms.

"It's okay, Stevie," Jillian said, trying to sound calm, but then she wondered if that made her seem suspicious. "Just ask me next time," she added, making herself sound stern.

"But you already said no," countered Amanda.

Katie climbed to her feet. "You can have him back," she said, holding the dummy out. "We're done looking at him."

Jillian accepted the wooden figure without another word and stepped back to the kitchen. Had they blown the plan? Was Slappy wrong about Mary-Ellen? She looked down at the dummy in her arms and straightened his checkered bowtie - right before she froze. "Where's Mary-Ellen?" she whispered to him.

"What about Mary-Ellen?" Harrison asked, shifting in his chair to look at her.

Jillian started but tried to hide it. "My sisters always have that dumb doll with them," she said with a sniff. "I just wondered where they put her now."

Harrison suddenly snickered. "You don't have to be jealous of a doll, Jillian."

Jillian rounded on him. " _Excuse_ me?"

He grinned at her. "Oh, Harrison, you won't _believe_ what the girls did this time," he started in a high-pitched voice. "They made me take them to Dairy Queen and just pretended to feed Mary-Ellen without talking to me. They're always nicer to Mary-Ellen."

Jillian looked away. "I do not sound like that."

"Pretty close," Harrison chuckled.

"Are we gonna practice or what?" Jillian snapped.

Harrison's smile widened, and he pulled Maxie into his lap. He stuffed his big fingers into the hole on the dummy's torso - right before he let out a cry and pulled his hand back. "What the - "

"What's wrong?" Jillian asked.

He opened his mouth to speak - but then his jaw hung opened as he pulled back the folds of Maxie's clothes to peer into the hole. His dark eyes grew wide, and a sickened chill seemed to creep over him.

Jillian stepped closer. "Harrison, what's wrong?"

In response he pointed to the opening. Jillian looked.

Inside were the broken remains of one of Mom's glass jam jar.

* * *

Slappy watched from Jillian's bed as the tall girl paced the carpet floor later that evening. Ordinarily, he might have thought the seething wrath on her porcelain-like face to be fetching, but right then he wanted to knock more sense into her than hindsight could have provided.

"I can't believe they'd do that to Harrison!" Jillian fumed, spinning on her socks. "Especially Amanda! He's always been nice to the girls!"

"Yeah, who could have predicted it?" Slappy said dryly, shooting her a dirty look.

Jillian threw up her hands. "Fine! You were right, and I was wrong. Sorry!"

"You should be," the dummy sniffed. Harrison could jump into a glacier for all Slappy cared about the freak's well being, but the puppet had been right in assuming the kid's presence would mess things up somehow. Sure, _maybe_ somebody could argue that Mary-Ellen would not have taken the bait under normal circumstances and had been a good little doll for the adults, but she definitely would not have used Harrison if the dope had stayed far away from the Zinmans that afternoon.

The parents had all been idiots, including the lawyer.

"But they couldn't have done it, Mama!" Stevie, the lawyer's twerp, had protested. "They were with me the whole time!"

"Jillian was with _me_ the whole time," Harrison had retorted. "And I wouldn't put glass into my own dummy."

"And they were in here when we were out of the kitchen," Jillian had added. "They took Slappy without permission."

Mrs. Shapiro had rounded on her little son. "Stephen Shapiro, is that true?"

Stevie had looked down at his velcro sneakers. "Maybe, Mama."

With his head against Jillian's shoulder, Slappy had stared blankly at the photograph of a forest at sunset on the wall, but with his peripheral vision he had seen the stony looks Mr. and Mrs. Zinman had exchanged.

He had also seen Mary-Ellen in the arms of the girly twin, and Slappy had had the impression that the rotten doll stared at him.

Mrs. Zinman had then turned to the twins. "Katelyn and Amanda Zinman, that was completely - " she had started to say, but suddenly her face changed, and she rubbed her head.

Her husband had immediately touched her shoulder. "Babe, are you okay?"

His wife had rubbed her temples. "Y-Yeah. All this stress is making me lightheaded."

Slappy could still see Mary-Ellen in the corner of his eye, and he had thought he saw her heart-shaped mouth twitch, as if she were trying not to laugh. Slappy had been immediately on his guard.

After Mrs. Zinman had taken a few deep breaths, she had then straightened. However, instead of addressing only the twins, suddenly her frown had been aimed at Jillian too. "Well, since we can't prove who did it, I think all three of you should go upstairs."

Jillian had jostled Slappy as she had stepped toward her mother. "But that's not fair - "

"Now, Jillian," Mrs. Zinman had ordered, pointing in the direction of the stairs. "Harrison, you can go home now."

That had been the end of the discussion, but as Jillian stormed away from the scene, Slappy caught a glance at Mary-Ellen, and he had been sure that her blank smile looked a lot more smug.

Slappy's jaw now clenched. He had been so close to knocking out the second good deed, and if Mary-Ellen had been gotten rid of, then he would have had a lot more leisure to get the third one done, and he could move onto his plan of being free of that curse once and for all. Yet somehow Mary-Ellen had done something to Mrs. Zinman - Slappy was sure of it - and they were off than when they had started. _Once I'm free, you're all gonna get it_ , he seethed, imagining his vengeance against the doll, the twins, Harrison, the parents and Jimmy for good measure. _I'm not gonna die because of you idiots!_

He turned his attention back to Jillian who had slowed in her pacing but still simmered with rage. "She has to have a weakness."

"Good luck finding it with _your_ brains," Slappy muttered.

Jillian ignored him. "We could tie her up or lock her in a trunk," she mused.

"Unlikely if she's strong," Slappy pointed out.

The girl bit her lip, furrowing her black eyebrows. "If only we knew what she wanted…" Suddenly, he could see an idea dawn on her doll-like face, and her green eyes flicked to him. "Do you still want to do one of your good deeds?"

That made him straighten. A flare of hope sparked inside him. "What do you have in mind?"

Jillian approached the bed and sat beside him. "I think," she said slowly, "that I know what we can do."

Something in her tone made him frown. He leaned back, squinting his large eyes at her. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like it?"

Her little mouth formed a grim smile. "I have the feeling you're gonna hate it."

* * *

A/N: Want to see the next chapter a lot faster? Go back to Chapter 3 and leave a review! It would be a BIG help! :D

Again, points to you if you know which movie Jillian is quoting in the last line. ;) Also, the "Yule be sorry" is from a Grumpy Cat thing I saw. XD I like puns if you haven't guessed by now.


	7. Chapter 7

Amanda was the best at opening the basement door without making a sound, so it was her job to stand watch while Katie snuck into the kitchen for treats. From her spot just inside the basement landing, Amanda could hear Mom talking with Aunt Sophie in the living room. She did not know what they were saying, although she heard them mention Jillian once or twice. Dad moved around the den, maybe doing something with the Christmas tree, and his footsteps came dangerously close to the entrance that looked into the kitchen, but fortunately he didn't notice Katie sneaking around the refrigerator. Eventually he went into the living room too.

Both girls knew it was stupid to be downstairs having a party while they were supposed to be in their room, but Mary-Ellen felt like celebrating, and it would have been more stupid to disobey her.

Katie came back with her last part of their haul: the large jug of eggnog and the pack of green Jell-O cups. Amanda widened the door for her to enter, but Katie stopped with a muffled squeak, nearly dropping her cargo.

 _What's wrong?_ Amanda mouthed.

Arms still hugging the eggnog and snack cups, Katie pointed a shaky finger to Amanda's left, on the other side of the door frame. Amanda peered around the corner - and had to cover her mouth to conceal her gasp.

Slappy leaned against the hallway wall, grinning up at her.

The twins looked at each other. "What do we do?" whispered Amanda. Although she had enjoyed Slappy when they had seen him at the Little Theater, now the dummy was Jillian's friend, and Mary-Ellen had said they needed to be careful around him.

"Take him to Mary-Ellen," Katie answered, and she held up the bottle and Jell-O for Amanda to take. Katie swallowed and took a step toward the dummy - swallowed again - and bent to pick him up. Amanda covered her mouth, half-expecting Slappy to start making noises to get them in trouble, but the brown-haired puppet stayed still and continued to smile as Katie lifted him by the wrist and slung him onto her shoulder.

Amanda opened the basement door and let the two slip past. "Mary-Ellen will be happy to see you," she whispered to the dummy as Katie crept down the steps.

* * *

Jillian laid on her stomach on the top of the stairs, listening. She had guessed her sisters would try to leave their room without permission, and she had not been disappointed when she had heard the creak of the door down the hall. Her original idea was to leave Slappy in their bedroom to wait for them to come back, but after the girls had taken too long returning, she had crept with Slappy to the stairs. The dummy had wiggled out of her arms, claiming he could hear them moving from the kitchen to the basement and back, and he began to inch his way down the stairs.

Fortunately, Dad had left the den, and Slappy had taken the opportunity to circle the long way around to reach the hallway. "I'm gonna do this good deed even if it kills me," she had heard the dummy muttered as he descended. From the lack of noise downstairs besides a whispered squeak from Katie, Jillian guessed the girls had discovered him.

She took a deep breath. This had been her idea, but her heart pulsed as if she had just finished a marathon. Two days ago she had been hesitant to hold him, but now, even knowing it would help her cause, she did not really want to let him go.

 _Stay safe_ , she thought as she heard the twins shut the basement door behind them.

* * *

Slappy's arms dangled over the Ponytail Brat's shoulder, bumping against the little girl's back with each stair she descended into enemy territory. Girly Brat followed close behind, carrying the stolen snacks from the kitchen.

 _How did I let Jillian talk me into this?_ Slappy inwardly scowled, but he knew the answer before he even finished the question. This was his chance to get his second good act done; his life hung in the balance. If he could act as Jillian's envoy and find out something about Mary-Ellen, he was that much closer to his freedom - and his future.

At the bottom of the steps, Ponytail Brat turned Slappy to face forward, and he saw Mary-Ellen sitting at a doll-sized wooden table in the middle of the rec room, hair frizzy and wearing a red velvet Christmas dress. A plastic tea set with a sappy design rested in front of her, and Slappy could see the other snacks the girls had already brought down for the private party.

"Look who it is," said Ponytail Brat with a nervously chipper squeak, holding up the limp dummy.

"What do you want us to do, Mary-Ellen?" asked Girly Brat.

The doll did not reply, but Slappy saw the girly one nod obediently out of the corner of his eye. "Okay, we'll do that," she said, and the two miniature humans set to work. Ponytail set Slappy in the chair facing Mary-Ellen, carefully arranging his arms over the armrests, and Girly opened the teapot and poured in the chilled eggnog. The kids busied themselves laying out their pilfered picnic on the tiny table, but neither one spoke. Slappy kept his dull eyes glued to Mary-Ellen, and the doll stared back without even twitching her nose.

To his surprise the little girls suddenly stepped away from the table. "Okay, Mary-Ellen," said the girly one in a tone that sounded like she was replying to a statement. "Whatever you want."

"We'll come back when you need us," squeaked the other, and they turned and headed upstairs - leaving Slappy alone with the doll.

Mary-Ellen did not move.

The ticking of the clock in the next room filled the air, making the silence that much more deafening. Slappy stared blankly at the ugly, expecting her to blink her violet eyes and start reaching for the cupcake on her plate, but she remained still.

 _Hurry up and let me do my good deed already_ , he thought angrily behind his placid expression. His being in this room meant he could something for Jillian that she actually needed - a chance to know what Mary-Ellen truly wanted or at least discover a weakness. Yet that conversation would never get started if Franken-Barbie didn't actually tell him a thing. His life was literally ticking away with each twitch of the clock's second hand. Was she expecting him to make the first move -

 _Comfy?_

Slappy had to keep himself from jumping, but his arm moved ever so slightly against the seat.

 _I asked, are you comfy?_

Slappy did not respond, still staring at the motionless plastic face in front of him.

 _Feel free to help yourself. There's more where that came from_ , the high female voice continued companionably deep inside his head, somewhere near his subconscious thoughts.

The heater kicked on then, drowning out the clock.

Suddenly, he heard a soft chuckle - an audible sound. "If you're going to play dead, I can have the girls give you a proper funeral and throw you in the fireplace," the heart-shaped mouth said as Mary-Ellen fluffed her messy brown hair with a plastic hand. "Or do you prefer a burial in the backyard, Slappy?"

The dummy finally allowed himself to blink. He sat up in his seat with a smirk, acting unfazed by her threats. "You're quite the hostess, aren't you, doll?"

"I try," Mary-Ellen returned, now shifting her weight to reach for the plastic teapot and pour a white liquid into her pink cup. "I like a bit of eggnog around the holidays, don't you? Hand me your cup, doll. Come on, come on. Your cup, Slappy." She held out her tiny hand. "We're dolls, not humans after all."

Slappy slid his cup over, which she generously filled - and the dummy was struck by how odd it was that she should be the first doll he had spoken to in ages. It reminded him of the first few weeks of his life when he had had only the company of the other surviving toys in his creator's workshop before the landlord had discovered the toymaker's body. There had not been much left: a jack-in-box controlled by music, a porcelain doll with a saintly face that masked a delightfully wicked soul, himself and...

Slappy shook away the memories of red-haired puppets and reminded himself he needed to get this deed done. "Trying to sweeten me up?" he joked as Mary-Ellen passed him back the girly teacup.

"I think you're just right the way you are," the doll laughed. "Sharing food is a good way to start things off for two people with as much to talk about as we do."

"Cutting to the chase. At least some of your brain works - if you had a brain, that is," snickered Slappy, looking her up and down.

"Glass houses, dear," Mary-Ellen replied, her painted smile twitching momentarily into a frown. She tilted her frizzy head, studying him. Her red mouth regained its grin. "Before the party I was never able to get close enough to see if you were really alive, but I knew it the moment you elbowed Jimmy."

Slappy looked her dead in the eye. "Because you knew he wouldn't have his dummy hit him after that spell you cast on him," he surmised. "Same spell you pulled on Mrs. Zinman in the kitchen just now so that she wouldn't side with Jillian, am I right?" He had not known why Jimmy had started to lower him toward the twins the day of the party, especially since it was out of character for the dweeb to let Slappy in kicking range of children, but after Mrs. Zinman's little lightheaded spell which had followed with her punishing Jillian, it now made sense. It had been a long while since he had seen doll magic besides his own. "I know you're already communicating with the brats without talking, so a little mind control wouldn't be too out of left field."

"You're a smart cookie," Mary-Ellen grinned before she laid her round chin on her tiny palms. "Since we're cutting to the chase, tell me how you are liking my humans, darling. I hope you weren't planning to steal any of my slaves while you're here."

Slappy looked at her sharply before he furrowed his brow, faking confusion. "Slaves?" he asked innocently. "Is that a joke?"

Mary-Ellen gave a dry chuckle. "Nobody believes you're a Boy Scout, puppet. Whoever heard of a human bringing a doll to life for _good_ intentions?"

He snorted, dropping his good-guy expression. "Fair enough." _Actually, I'll settle for just one slave. She's all I need once this curse is lifted_. "Must be hard for you with only those two Munchkins."

"You'd be surprised," replied the doll companionably. "It helps to have such a huge age gap between Jillian and the girls. Their parents make the big sister cater to the little sisters, so I essentially get all five Zinmans doing what I want."

Slappy saw an opening. "And what do you want?" he asked casually, leaning his head against his palm.

Mary-Ellen gave him a mysterious smile. "Haven't you guessed?"

Slappy wasn't sure if he wanted to answer.

The doll giggled and picked up her saucer and cup. "Actually, I'm almost flattered an actor of your caliber decided to roost here. I suppose we both have good tastes, hmm?" She gestured to his eggnog. "Go on. I bet you haven't gotten this kind of service from Jimmy O'James, have you, darling? Or would you prefer I put Tabasco in it?"

Slappy shifted forward and sniffed the white substance before he gingerly took a sip. Not half bad. He reached over a bowl of green grapes to grab a gingerbread cookie. "So, what's your story then, kid? Mommy or Daddy was a magic-using doll maker with a vendetta?"

Mary-Ellen's brow arched, and a cold rage clouded her eyes. "My mother!" she scoffed. "My mother thought the best thing to do with her magic was to make ugly dolls that no one would ever steal just to make them do housework." Her hideous mouth formed a cruel smirk. "Now, she's in the ground, and I have two slaves who wait on me hand and foot. Life is funny that way. You?"

He took a long sip before answering, weighing his options. He really did not want to delve into his life story with this freak, but if he kept the conversation going, perhaps he would discover something useful. "Pop stole an enemy's coffin and made a dummy out of it," he replied, wiping the white mustache from his lip. _Well, two dummies_ , he thought bitterly, but he pushed those dark memories aside once again. "He had the idea to live forever through making a living coffin."

Her eyes widened. "Fascinating," she purred, scooting closer. "He put his soul inside a long-lasting vessel. I bet you can't be killed off without your soul possessing a new host, can it?"

"No getting rid of me unless I want to leave."

She nodded vigorously. "Does that mean you're just a human in a doll's body?"

Slappy sat up, sloshing eggnog onto the table. "Bite your plastic tongue!" he growled. "I'm no more human than you, kiddo."

She chuckled, and her enthusiasm visibly dialed back. "I meant no offense, doll. It's just that you've been a source of much... curiosity for me these past few months."

Why was she looking at him like that? Slappy sneered to hide his unease and tossed a bit of cookie carelessly into his sliding mouth. "So, what's your game, sister?" _Tell me something useful_.

"Monopoly," Mary-Ellen quipped in a cheery voice which Slappy was beginning to find insufferable. "But I am open to sharing - if the business partner was nice enough. Or handsome enough." She ran her fingers through her messy hair and pursed her lips slightly at him.

Slappy tried not to vomit inside his mouth. He folded his hands. "So, if you want to talk business, let's talk business, Miss Mary Mack."

"So direct," she grinned, batting her eyelashes. "I admire a man who can take charge." She lowered her tea cup slightly. "I believe we can come to an arrangement that will please us both. Even with your… questionable taste in companions, I'm looking forward to many good evil years together."

Slappy raised an eyebrow. "What do you have against Jillian anyway?"

Her violet eyes darkened. "Have you _met_ that brat?" she growled.

"Quite pleased to say that I have," replied Slappy smugly. "Why? Can't you handle her as well as I can?"

Mary-Ellen frowned. "Jillian will be a young woman in a short time, and adults are harder to control," she said, sliding her plastic thumb over her teacup. "As I'm sure you've learned that with Jimmy O'James."

Slappy snorted. "So, why not pull the same stunt on Jillian that you did with Mrs. Zinman and Jimmy? If you have the magic, why torment Jillian instead of controlling her?"

"I have my reasons." However, Mary-Ellen broke eye contact, frowning down at her gingerbread cookie. Frustration etched her face even as Slappy saw a struggle to project a disinterested expression.

Then Slappy understood. "Heh!" He smirked and leaned forward. "Is she too strong-willed for you to control?"

Mary-Ellen scoffed, but her purple eyes showed thunder. "I just prefer working with small children," she insisted, dipping her own gingerbread cookie into her eggnog and nibbling (rather grumpily) at the softened part. "They're much more pliable, and if you can catch them young enough, they'll fear you all the way to adulthood. I had raised my last girl until her first year of college. I would've married her off to a young man with a big, fat trust fund, but the little fool tried to slit her wrist. While she was in the hospital, her family sold me to Mr. Zinman in a yard sale. This time around I have twins, so imagine what they can do when they start driving."

"If you say so," answered Slappy, feeling a rush of pride for his green-eye girl. He also experienced a sense of satisfaction when he recalled all the little favors Jillian had begun to do for him, like giving him the jazz cassette tape and a can of root beer that morning. He had gotten the kid to do more for him in a few days than what Mary-Ellen could do in a few months.

 _I bet you've tried to control me too - but it won't work even if I were as weak minded as Jimmy_ , Slappy inwardly gloated, recalling a page in the toymaker's journal. The sorcerer had gleefully recorded a time when a rival witch had tried to place a spell to control one of his teddy bears with razor teeth. However, the bear had been under one of the toymaker's nastier curses and had thus been immuned. Sure, it was an immunity in the way that people with sickle cell disease couldn't get malaria, but for once Slappy felt a sense of power from his deadly protective covering. Dolls could not be double cursed.

Mary-Ellen did not speak again for several moments, sampling her cupcake, cookies, and other treats. Just as Slappy was about to make a joke about her needing to stress eat because of a preteen girl, the doll suddenly stopped. A wicked light spread across her pug face. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. "I had a thought just now."

"Did it hurt?"

Mary-Ellen chuckled. "Slappy, dear, it's hard enough to be one living doll on a planet full of dumb monkeys, but imagine what two living dolls with magic could do."

Slappy snorted. "A team up?"

"Why not?" she answered sweetly. "I already have my two slaves. I would be happy to part with one twin for your private use. Thanks to me, they already have their parents wrapped around their little fingers. My girls could get you whatever you need."

Slappy sat a little straighter. An image flashed across his mind of the little brats catering to his every whim while he sat upon one of the comfy chairs in the Zinman's living room. Once he finished his two remaining good deeds and got rid of Jimmy, it would be nice to have a pre-packaged slave to do his bidding - and maybe he would let Jillian enjoy the pleasure of bossing her sisters around for a change. If Jillian was nice to him.

Slappy examined his fingers, feigning boredom. "Tempting," he replied after a moment. "What's the catch?"

She held up one finger. "All I ask is a teeny, tiny thing," she chirped. "You help me send your precious roommate to juvie or the funny farm. Once she's out of the house for good, you can pick your twin."

The puppet frowned. "Why would I want to do that? Jillian obeys _me_ ," he jabbed.

Her eyebrows arched. "A man as evil as you must enjoy spreading misery. Imagine all the pain you can inflict on her. The tears she could shed. The screams. The descent into madness. I can vouch that her torment can be entertaining to watch." She smiled. "Plus Katie and Amanda won't be giving you any trouble once they reach their teens. Jillian will just backtalk you. Mark my words."

 _How about I mark your face? With an axe?_

He was sorely tempted to sling his chair into her head, but the thought of the curse kept him from attacking her. He was here to come up with a solution. "How about I make Jillian help you out once in a while?" he suggested, speaking through his teeth. "You loan me your twins. I loan you Jillian. We use all three girls to get the parents to buy us what we want. Truce."

The doll's face hardened. "No dice. That girl is a pimple needing to be popped, and I'm out of patience. Either you're for me or you're against me, Slappy," she growled. "I suggest you pick the side that already has the most power in this house."

The dummy straightened. "Jillian is _my_ slave, and no plastic gargoyle is going to tell me what to do with my property."

"Hmph!" she snorted, tossing her frizzy mane. " _I_ got this family first. You're trying to enslave what I have rightfully captured. The least you could do is offer a price - and my price is that freak's complete and utter misery."

"Look, you have guts - I'll give you that, kid - but you're out of your league."

To his surprise, Mary-Ellen smiled. She leaned back, lacing her plastic fingers. "What do you know about girls around Jillian's tender age, darling?"

"I've known a few," he returned. Granted, he had not lived _long_ with any of them. "Why?"

Mary-Ellen's grin became shark like. "Well, as a woman who has known _many_ little girls over the years, I can tell you that they become… hormonal around this time. Irrational, you might say. Can't think things through properly."

Slappy's jaw twitched. "What are you getting at?"

Mary-Ellen's heart-shaped mouth became a thin line, but she gave a muffled laugh. "Little Katie doesn't cry much," she said when she had quieted, "but I could give her a reason to cry if I chose. Now, supposing I were talking to an enemy instead of a good friend right now, what if Katie ran crying to Mommy and Daddy because of the irrational thing Jillian did to her angelic face?" She tilted her head. "With everything going on with the court case, what do you think will happen to Jillian? Or to a certain dummy once she's shipped off to juvie?"

Slappy stared at her. "You're sick."

"Aw, you say the nicest things," she tittered, batting her synthetic eyelashes. "One word, darling, and you're out."

However, even as his mind considered being thrown into the trash before he could break the curse and having the city dump for a smelly grave, a slow burn coursed through Slappy. Jillian was _his_ slave - and he intended to make her so much more than that in time. There was no way that some Cabbage Patch Kid was going to tell him what to do with his property. "No," he said firmly.

She shook a minatory finger side to side. "You'll be sorry."

"I'm never sorry for anything, kid," he sneered. "And I don't take orders - I give them." In a flash he was on his feet, grabbing the teapot. Before Mary-Ellen had time to react, he pulled the top off and flung the contents into her face. He planned to pummel the toy into her head, but he almost lost his feet as the doll shrieked and flipped the table over, sending the picnic flying.

Before he could even raise his arm to shield himself, Mary-Ellen tackled him, and the two toys struggled on the now messy carpet, punching, kicking, and growling. Just as Slappy summoned what was left of his weakened strength to hurl the doll across the room, Mary-Ellen's plastic fist suddenly rammed in between his eyes, and he saw stars.

The doll slammed him on his back, rattling his sliding jaw. Her hands immediately snaked around his neck, tugging his head away from his shoulders. "I really don't want to hurt you, dear," she hissed, "but if I have to teach you a lesson - " But she did not get to finish.

The basement door opened above them. Both dolls went still. Heavy footsteps began to descend. Mary-Ellen crumpled onto the carpet, and Slappy managed to scoot away from her just as Mr. Zinman's Christmas house slippers appeared. The rest of him soon followed, and the balding man let out an exclamation the moment he saw the mess. "What's going _on_ down there?"

Slappy stared at the ceiling as Mr. Zinman marched over to the still toys. He grabbed Slappy and Mary-Ellen by their collars and tucked both of them under one arm. "Katie and Amanda!" he exhaled, righting the wooden table. He picked up a few pieces of the uneaten food before he seemed to think better of it and turned on his heel toward the stairs, no doubt planning to get proper cleaning equipment.

Slappy and Mary-Ellen's shoulders bumped together as Mr. Zinman started upward. Although they couldn't look at each other, Slappy suddenly had an image in his head of two violet eyes glaring cold fire at him.

 _This isn't over, darling_ , Mary-Ellen hissed.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Special thanks to Hollydoor, whose timely review gave me the motivation to look at this story again.

Please check out (and review *nod, nod, wink, wink*) my Goosebumps one shots, "Good Intentions" and "Video Games and Ventriloquism." Keep an eye out for my upcoming fic, "Perfect Girl."

* * *

Sophia Stander looked up from her knitting at the sound of David's heavy footsteps ascending the basement steps, audible over the jazz trumpets crooning on the living-room radio.

"Look what I found," her nephew-in-law said as he stepped into the room. David held two food-covered figures: Mary-Ellen and what Sophia knew had to be the new dummy Jimmy O'James had given Jillian.

So, this was the little brute.

Annie shifted on her aunt's other side. "Look at that thing," she grimaced. "Why would Jillian want to play with something that looks like that?"

"You never know what will surprise you next," Sophia said carefully, and she motioned for David to hand the dummy over.

David obliged, and he held up Mary-Ellen. "I'll just drop her off with the twins," he said, "and give them a long talk about not going into the basement when they're supposed to stay in their room."

"Good luck, dear," Annie told her husband as he headed up the stairs.

Sophia sat the wooden puppet on her lap. Slappy stared blankly ahead as she twisted his wooden head side to side. The craftsmanship looked exquisite despite its age. "Interesting face," she murmured to herself. "Reminds me of something I saw once, but I can't place where."

Annie made a noise of disgust. "It's so ugly."

"'He', child. Don't be rude," the elderly woman answered. Jillian had had the puppet with her when Sophia had come over to settle the hot-cocoa incident, but at the time she had not thought to give him a second look.

"Why is Jillian playing with it now?" Annie pressed, taking her aunt's arm. "With everything that's going on?"

"He's not too bad if you squint your eyes," replied Sophia, running a hand over his painted curly hair. "The twins certainly love this little guy a whole lot. I wasn't much for ventriloquism back when I was a dollmaker. Made a few dummies for my teacher, but can't say I ever got the appeal."

She turned Slappy onto his stomach and looked inside his back. "Goodness, he has a pull string!" she laughed. "He's an old one! His toymaker should be proud of their work."

Sophia flipped Slappy back over, studying his face again. Interesting shade of blue on the eyes… "I remember mixing the paints for the dolls," she continued, more to herself. "My teacher always had to have everything just so. He favored green eyes mostly, but on occasion he'd paint a doll with blue eyes."

"Why green?"

Sophia raised her head. "Well… kinda as a joke." She tapped her wrinkled temple, indicating her own green eyes. "He used to tell me that green eyes were the mark of a witch in the Dark Ages."

Annie snorted. "Is that why he hired you?"

"He was an odd duck," Sophia conceded. "Not that I could say he cared about witches anymore than he did anyone else. He used to giggle whenever anyone talked about the history of Salem..."

Sophia trailed off as footsteps rose from the upstairs hall and began to descend. Instead of the heavy thuds of David, Sophia recognized them as the lighter steps of a certain six grader. Within seconds Jillian appeared, and her grand niece stopped short, one foot dangling off the bottom stair, when she saw the two women and the dummy.

Sophia lifted the puppet. "Your dad found him in the basement, baby doll. He got a little dirty, but I can wash his suit for you." She offered a kind smile.

Jillian's green eyes flashed, but she assumed a poker face - goodness, the child had a talent as an actress, didn't she? - and crossed over to the couch. Jillian stiffly pulled Slappy into her arms. "Thank you, but I can do it myself."

"That was very nice of you to let the girls play with him," Sophia continued, holding out her hand.

Jillian stepped out of reach and gave a shrug. "It's the least I can do." She turned away. "I still got homework. Better finish it."

Annie called after her daughter: "We go see Santa tomorrow after school. You know how Aunt Babs loves Christmas photos of you girls."

Jillian gave a careless wave and disappeared up the steps.

Sophia casually went back to her knitting - Christmas presents wouldn't make themselves - and tried not to let her concern show. She had not yet told Annie or David about the conversation that had led to Jillian locking herself in the bathroom last night - and she wouldn't mention it unless it became important.

"What a nice version," she commented as the radio giggled out a Big Band rendition of "Joy to the World". She smiled at Annie. "Your uncle would have loved this," she said, intending to steer her niece's attention to happier times.

Yet Annie scooted closer with an expression of distress. "Why is Jillian doing this?" she whispered. "All the fighting with the twins and the cupcakes and your house, and now Jillian is playing with dolls. I thought we'd have a few years!"

"It varies from child to child," replied Sophia calmly, although her fingers quickened their pace. "Things can change as they become teens."

"This isn't teen rebellion," Annie hissed. "She's becoming more and more like..." The young mother covered her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. "Aunt Sophie, what if she remembers - "

Sophia released her needles and took her niece's hand. "Take a deep breath, child." She waited a moment as Annie obeyed before she put an arm around the younger woman. Annie laid her head on Sophia's shoulder, much like she had done back when her mama had been in the hospital.

"Everything's happening all at once." Annie's voice broke.

"Just love her, dear," Sophia replied, laying her white head against Annie's brunette hair. "That's what she really needs after what she went through."

"But is it enough now?"

Sophia's gaze moved to the stairs. "Best to wait and see, my girl."

* * *

"Don't tell me you're actually _related_ to that crone," Slappy sneered within the safety of Jillian's bedroom.

"Nope," replied Jillian, depositing him on the bed and taking the spot beside him. "Not by blood anyway."

"Good," he said. He remained standing on the mattress, all but glaring at the floor covering the living room beneath them. "I would hate for you to look like that when you're old."

"Don't jinx it," she warned.

She gave him a once over, taking in the streaks of food on his wrinkled jacket and a few scratches on his chin which he didn't have before he went downstairs. She had been pacing the landing for a good fifteen minutes and had ducked into the bathroom when Dad came marching up with Mary-Ellen. Although it had been an unpleasant jolt to see him on Aunt Sophie's lap, Jillian could not deny a sudden weight had left her at the same time.

"How was your date?" she asked.

"Don't call it _that_ ," he snarled. He straightened his checkered sleeve with a jerk, shuddering with repulsion. "You should know that our plastic friend wants me to make you suffer - even threatened me to do it."

Jillian stared. "Why? What did I do to her?"

"Must have been a doozy, sweet eyes," he smirked, giving her a sudden look of admiration. "Did you kick her toy dog? Throw her down a sewer? I'd get even for that myself, as Amy Kramer so aptly learned."

Jillian threw up her hands. "How should I know!" she clipped. "I just live here! All this trouble started when Dad brought that doll home."

"Maybe she's jealous of your good looks," tittered the dummy.

"I can't help it if she's a beautician's worst nightmare," she retorted. Frustrated, Jillian strode toward the glass cage and reached for a napping Petey in his corner.

The lizard jolted awake as she pulled him up, and he gave her a look that said " _Mama, I was sleeping!_ " However, as Jillian stroked his back, he seemed to realize that his mammalian holder had body heat to snuggled against. He bedded down on the shoulder of her green sweater, and his breathing slowed hardly a minute later.

Jillian pressed her cheek against his cute head, wishing him a dream with a bug buffet. At least someone liked her unconditionally in this house.

Little feet thudded on the carpet behind her. "If only that gargoyle hadn't ruined my second good deed," Slappy muttered hoarsely. "I was so close!"

She turned, about to remind him that they had more important things to worry about than a few Christmas deeds. However, his ugly little face looked so distressed as he started to pace, sympathy chased away her annoyance.

Jillian carried her sleepy lizard back to the bed. She tucked her sock feet beneath their opposite knees to give Slappy room to wobble. "I think it still counts," she offered as he spun toward her. "Mary-Ellen woulda never talked to _me_. At least now we know where we stand with her, right?" She exhaled. "And my sisters."

She held Petey a little closer. Her jaw clenched, but then she straightened her shoulders. No, she would not let herself react to that. The twins had picked their side in this war, and they would reap their rewards in due time.

Slappy paused beside her knee and folded his arms. His blue eyes slitted with uncertainty. "I hope Jimmy sees it that way," he rasped.

"I think he will, buddy," she smiled. Then, on an impulse she could not explain, she laid a hand on his stiff shoulder. "Just do your best."

She had meant the contact to be brief, but as she drew away, his hand took hers and pressed it back into its former place. He squeezed her knuckles as far as his little fingers could reach. His blue eyes loomed up at her, as if waiting to see what she'd do.

She considered twisting her hand out of his grip, but that would probably cause him to giggle at her discomfort - and right then she decided to play along. After all, Harrison could attest how good she did at Chicken when she got serious.

She patted his arm and made an innocent smile. "How did the rest of your date with Mary-Ellen go?"

His eyebrows lowered into slants, but he held on. "Take three guesses," he replied. "Definitely not my choice of a companion."

"I think you make a cute couple," she chirped back, rapping her thumb against his jacket. Then to apply a dash of salt to the jab, she added, "Junior."

Slappy straightened. His blue eyes squinted sharply at her, but his cool hand remained on top of her warm one. Then he let out a raspy chuckle. "Junior," he murmured. "Few are brave enough to call me that."

"It suits you," she replied, almost with a giggle of her own.

The sensible side of her tapped her shoulder, reminding her that the doll who put the peanuts in the doomed cupcakes lived only a few doors down the hall, but… something else didn't want to give up the sudden game. Maybe it was just her pride not wanting to let her budge an inch. Still, she didn't pull away, and he did not release her.

Suddenly, Petey scrambled up her shoulder, and Jillian realized she had let him slip too low. She straightened, yanking away from the dummy. Guilty and sheepish, Jillian stroked the startled lizard, murmuring that he was a good boy and safe with her.

Slappy snickered. "You coddle the boy, Ma."

"He deserves it," answered Jillian, tickling Petey's neck. When both her lizard and her conscience were appeased, she turned back to her companion. "So, really, what else happened in the basement?"

Slappy climbed up beside her and told her a story of mind control on her parents, Mary-Ellen's ultimatum to force Slappy into helping her, and the fight which broke out between them after he refused her. Jillian could only stare with a hanging jaw until the end.

"And she even tried to bribe me with loaning me one of the dweebs for an errand girl," Slappy finished with an indignant snort. "Why would I need someone that short when I have you?"

Jillian looked down at sleeping Petey, trying her best to process everything. "She… wants me in asylum? Really?"

"Could probably stand to visit one herself," answered Slappy.

Jillian bit her lip - and a horrible thought presented itself to her. She met Slappy's eyes, feeling as if an invisible hand squeezed her heart. "Is… she using her mind powers on my sisters too?"

Slappy shook his head. "That's… different," he said, looking away.

Ice replaced all warmth inside her. She gripped Petey, using his sweet presence as a tool to collect her thoughts. Then Jillian disentangled her crossed legs, now numb, and did her best to stand. "I gotta call Jimmy."

"If you think he can help," Slappy snorted.

Jillian laid Petey on the bed and hobbled against the pain in her limbs to sit down by her phone. She picked up the lizard-printed receiver with one hand while the other reached for the drawer where she had stored the business card Jimmy had given her.

The drawer slid out as easily as liquid - but the card was missing.

* * *

A/N: If you spot typos I missed, please let me know in a PM. :)

So, I'm technically past the midpoint now. I wanted to get that far at least, but I've been considering declaring this a dead fic or even just deleting it. What do you guys think?


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